Left Unsaid
by ElleSmith
Summary: By Christmas AC 204 there were seven victims, all brutally murdered. New York City was being terrorized. The hateful crimes called for Preventer's intervention. They called him "the Redeemer", because he only killed his victims after they were forced to call a loved one and beg for the redemption found in death. That is, until he reached a victim who didn't know who to call...
1. Chapter 1: L2

**Left Unsaid – Intro, Warnings & Notes**

**Summary:**

By Christmas AC 204 there were seven victims, each too different to indicate a certain pattern, yet all were brutally tortured and finally murdered. Anyone could be next – New York City was being terrorized.

The hateful crimes made waves in the community and called for Preventer's intervention. News of it even traveled up to the Colonies. They called him "The Redeemer", because he only killed his victims after they were forced to call their loved ones and beg for the redemption found in death.

He has been claiming victim after victim and it seemed that there was no stopping him. That is, until he reached a victim who didn't know who to call...

**Disclaimer:**

GUNDAM WING is a Registered Trademark of Bandai, Sunrise, Sotsu Agency & TV Asahi. This work of fiction was written for non-profitable purposes. Non-Gundam Wing related names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

**Warnings:**

I'll start off by saying that I'm an avid 1x2/2x1 fan – first and foremost. That being said, I don't rule out the very feasible notion that Heero and Relena love each other and I believe that they can totally have a go at a romantic relationship. Hence, you can expect both in this story. And now to some actual warnings:

**Warnings:**

- Homosexual themes

- Violence, torture, sex and death (some graphic) **(for later chapters,****not****posted on this website)**

- Nonconsensual sex (some graphic) **(for later chapters,****not****posted on this website)**

- Obscene language

- Psychological and religious ranting

- Dark themes and deep angst

- 1x2/2x1, 1xR/2xR

**Read at your own discretion**

**IMPORTANT NOTE:**

This story's overall rating isn't suitable for this archive. Therefore, **only the suitable chapters will be posted here.** The rest of the story (18 chapters in total) can be found on the AO3 website, or, if you're interested in the eBook version, just send me a PM and I will be more than happy to send you the full eBook (looks FAR better than the HTML version, I promise).

Elle.

**Author's Note:**

Christmas 2013 and my muses were bustling. Winter is a blessed time for artistic muses to run free. How the Hell did those traitorous muses take a turn to the "dark side" is beyond me, but I couldn't fight inspiration. It took me about a year to complete it, but here it is – ready just in time for Christmas 2014!

**A word of caution to this tale: **it is anything _but_ "Christmasy". I was inspired by many things, none of which _merry_. Please take my warnings seriously. I'm not saying that this story is evil incarnate, but it does contain a few gruesome scenes and dark themes. I tried to tone it down as much as I could without compromising the integrity of the story.

Lastly, although much has inspired this story, the most noteworthy of all is an old 1x2 fan fiction I've re-read a while ago: "Dark Matter" by LoneWolf (you can find it on the Shinigami and Wing website). I am mentioning LoneWolf's work because it's appropriate to give credit where credit is due. That being said, I would like to emphasize that my plotline isn't the same as LoneWolf's. My focus is elsewhere. I really was just inspired by an intriguing idea and by no means attempting to surpass an excellent piece of fiction.

I would love to read your reviews, good or bad – just as long as it's constructive.

Elle S.

See the end of the story for a research bibliography and list of citations.

_With many thanks to Nicki_

**End Intro.**

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 01: L2<strong>

"Love comes in various forms: romantic love, parental love, brotherly love... but the greatest of all is Godly love! It's the love that God had for mankind when He sent Jesus into the world to become a sacrifice for our sins. There is no greater love!" An old priest's voice vibrated throughout a small church. Candles flickered as though bowing to his passionate sermon. It was twelve days before Christmas and the humble house of worship was decorated for the holiday. A modest Christmas tree stood on the elevated altar, twinkling with colorful ornaments.

"That is the kind of love this world needs to know," the old man continued; "It's the very love that caused Jesus to leave Heaven for earth and become our Savior! This is the kind of love that will redeem us all!"

A few worshipers in the audience nodded their heads in blind agreement. They were men and women of all ages, ethnics and sizes; their only common factor being that they belonged to the same congregation living in a rundown urban neighborhood on Colony L2-V08744, more commonly known as "The Slums of Space". Some sat in shabby clothes and dirt-streaked faces: the homeless. Others wore blue-collar work attire under their ragged coats; hands filthy and callous by hard labor. A longing, haunted gleam shone in their weary eyes as they looked up at the altar, drinking the old priest's words hungrily.

"How can we come to know what true love is?" the priest questioned his followers; "Are we listening to the media or to our Holy God?" he paused, letting his audience ponder the question, before he continued his heated lecture; "Hate dominates our world! It has contaminated mankind for centuries! People are living with hatred. Look at the Anti-Colonists movements flooding Earth's streets with racism as they sermonize about hatred towards us... look at the numerous murders they've committed! Look at the awful carnage of Christmas AC 203! It's a world drunk with violence! Eight years of peace they say, but nothing is peaceful. The world only knows how to hate."

More heads nodded keenly, agreeing with his every word.

"We should all look at an "out of this world" example if we wish to find salvation. We should all look at Jesus Christ – he showed us and taught what real Christian love is. We know love by understanding Jesus' death!" he roared, and the crowd nodded in agreement. "We give gifts to those we love at Christmas, but no one has ever given, or will ever give a better gift than God gave when He sent Jesus. And no one will ever love us more than God loves us!"

Comfort washed over many faces in the small crowd seated on the benches. A few people smiled. Only one face remained indifferent to the priest's words. Hard cobalt eyes glared at the old man, seething with bitterness and abhor.

"Jesus said that no man could have a greater love than that he would lay down his life for his friends; and then He laid down His life for His enemies so that they might become His friends. Our puny minds cannot _begin_ to fathom the depths of this love. We can only fall to our knees and worship Him, praise Him, adore Him, for His excellent gift."

Cobalt eyes rolled backwards in a subtle display of insolence.

"John 3:16 – 'by this we know love' – is the briefest and best definition of love there is! Don't be fooled by what you hear, see and read in the media! Don't be misled by your misguided hearts! We could not know love apart from God! God _is_ love. And if we do not know love – His kind of love – then we don't know love at all. All other affections, no matter what we call them, fall short and incomplete of what they could be, if not based on this kind of love. Love God first, then you will know how to love others. This is the cure of mankind and what better time to embrace this truth than on Christmas! Let us celebrate eight years of peace by showing our fellow men that we love and accept them. Only then will the violence finally end!"

An old woman began to cry silently and a few others were also tearing up. Seated by the weeping old woman was a young man in his mid-twenties. While others around him were deeply moved by the sermon, this young man sat still and rigid, glaring daggers at the priest. He stood out in the crowd for another good reason: his appearance. He was well dressed; his dark blue jeans, clean white shirt and slick black leather jacket clearly gave him away as an outsider. His hair, a rich chestnut color with a healthy shine, was clean and well groomed, gathered into a thick long braid tucked into the back of his jacket. His features were round, hale and hearty; set in a hard, defying expression. The only item that hinted at his connection to the church was the plain silver cross pendant hanging from his neck by a thin chain, peeking behind the open trims of his leather jacket. He sat with his fists clenched over his kneecaps, listening to the sermon while fuming silently with rage.

The service ended and the crowd gradually scattered, each returning to their gray and bitter little lives. The old priest retired to his chamber at the back of the church. The braided young man remained seated at the bench, staring numbly at the candles burning by the altar. After a minute or so he finally stood up, crossed his heart, and followed the old priest to his retreat. He marched down a dimly lit hallway, a determined expression set on his hard face. As he approached the closed door at the end, he reached a hand to push his jacket aside slightly, revealing a polished police badge pinned to his belt, as well as a pistol in a concealed carry-holster above his belt. His hand hovered above the weapon as he pushed the door open without warning and stomped into the room.

The old priest, who was leaning over his desk, jumped back in fright. On the desk, among Holy Scripture and scribbled notepads, lay a plastic CD cover and on it piles of pale-pink powder, divided into two lines. The old man was holding a magnetic strip card in his hand, its edges soiled with pink powder. He looked up at the young cop in surprise, before his expression fell with relief. He offered a nervous smile and said: "Christ, Duo, you scared the bejesus outta me!"

"How about you put that shit away before I see sumthin' I ain't s'posed to?" Duo offered and pushed his leather jacket aside to show his L2PD badge and gun more clearly. The old man nodded eagerly and hurried to hide the evidence of his misconduct under a thick book. He wiped the powder off his hands by rubbing them together hastily and then turned to his visitor with a wily smile.

"I didn't think you'd bother coming for the whole service," he said; "Did you enjoy the sermon?"

Duo glared at him impatiently, crossing his arms over his chest. "I ain't here to give you any hail Marys, Father," he snapped; "Now you got sumthin' for me or what?"

The old man sighed. "I was thinking about you when I wrote it," he confessed quietly as he turned to rummage his desk, opening drawers in search for something.

"Sure you were," Duo scoffed.

"I'm sure that at least some of it was familiar," the priest insisted, looking up hopefully at Duo as he stood by the open desk drawer. "Father Maxwell was very fond of that verse..." he added quietly as he reached into the drawer; "He always brought it up at around Christmas, remember?" he finished with a wistful sigh as he handed Duo a small plastic bag, no bigger than a sugar-pack.

"All I remember is you two arguing all the time," Duo muttered gruffly and snatched the bag from the old man's hand.

The old priest let out a pensive chuckle. "Yeah, I was young... still passionate. Those were good times. I miss our debates."

Duo glowered at the old man, his eyes burning loathly. It looked like he had a lot to say, but was restraining himself.

"That the new poison everyone's jabbering about?" he asked coldly instead, waving the small bag in front of the light above to examine its content closely. It was filled with tiny pinkish-white crystals that shone in the light.

"It's pure _magic_," the priest nodded to confirm, smiling dreamily; "The purest out there."

"So I hear," Duo sighed and shoved the small bag into his pocket. "Don't suppose you know where I could go if I wanna extend my compliments to the chef?"

"Sorry, not this time," the man apologized; "but I'll keep an ear out in confession," he promised and Duo rolled his eyes. "Good cooks like to brag."

"Can't believe people confide in you..." he mumbled, shaking his head in disapproval.

"What can I say... I'm a man of God. People trust me."

"Talk about the blind leading the blind..." Duo grumbled, glaring at the dusty pinkish remnants on the men's wooden desk. He turned to leave.

"You hear about Jesse?" the old man called after him. Duo stopped dead in his tracks and whirled around, angry.

"What about him?" he growled.

"He's in The Pit again," the old man elaborated, casting his gaze down sadly; "Thought you should know."

"Fuck," the young cop hissed, fuming.

"It's the Magic... it really got him hooked this time. He's been back in the habit for a while. I hear he went into The Pit a few days ago and never came out..."

"Stupid junkie," Duo grumbled. "Fuck!"

"You'll get him outta there, right?"

"Yeah, yeah, sure... don't I always..." Duo heaved a long sigh and rubbed his face tiredly. "Thanks for the info, Father," he finally said and turned to walk out of the small office.

"What about you?" the old man called after him and Duo stopped at the doorway, tensing, his rigid back facing the priest. "What about me?" he grunted defensively.

"Keeping clean? I haven't seen you in group for a while."

"Yeah, been busy," Duo muttered tiredly and then finally left, stomping out of the church.

* * *

><p>He threw himself into his car, sinking into the driver's seat in exhaustion. The battered brown sedan was parked in a dark lot in front of the small church, the only bright source of light in a shady slum neighborhood. Duo pulled a cigarette box out of his jacket's pocket; it was a whiteblue box branded _'Winston Blue'_. He fished out a smoke and a lighter. The flame's soft halo washed his face with a warm glow, casting menacing shadows on his grim expression. He took a long, relaxing drag and leaned his head back against the headrest, eyes closed as he released a long column of smoke into the air.

For a long while, he remained completely motionless, the cigarette burning away in his hand. Finally, he sighed and straightened back up. After placing the burning butt between his pressed lips, he reached into his pocket again and pulled out the small plastic bag he'd been given by the priest. He toyed with it in his hand, feeling the small pinkish crystals rubbing against the soles of his fingers as though to tease him, taunting him into their allure. He stared at them long and hard, fighting temptation. It was a sick game, one he played often: dancing with danger, walking a fine line between right and wrong... testing his resolve again and again. The rush was hardly the same as actually surrendering to temptation, but it was all he had now that he was clean, going on eighteen months now.

His cellphone rang; an old melancholic rock song disturbing the perfect silence as the ringtone played. Duo ignored it and continued toying with the small packet, shifting it between his fingers like an expert thief or magician. The cellphone kept ringing. Releasing a peeved sigh, Duo shoved his hand into his pocket and pulled it out, glaring at the display. It was an unknown number, which was not unusual. Mostly snitches had his unlisted number and they all concealed their caller ID when calling. His number was sort of a 911 for local criminals; they trusted him with their shit and in return for his help, they offered theirs when he called in a favor.

Duo stared numbly at the phone, wondering how long it would take the snitch to give up. The longer the phone rang, the more urgent the call. He counted the beats, waiting for the exact moment before the call will be directed to voicemail – playing chicken with whoever was calling. The caller wasn't giving up, which meant that it was important. Duo took the call, yielding to the chicken game because he had to. He was one of the good guys after all.

"Maxwell," he huffed into the phone and took another drag on his nearly burnt-out cigarette, waiting for an answer. None came. He frowned. "Hello?" he grunted impatiently; "Start talkin' or I'm hangin' up."

More silence.

"Da fuck is this?" Duo hissed; "Jesse you fuck – that you? I'm gonna bust your _stupid junkie ass_, you hear! Father Dixon told me all 'bout you breaking bad again! What'd I tell you?! Next time you're on your own! You better not be in trouble, got it – cuz I'm DONE!"

Still no answer; whoever it was – he wasn't talking. Duo strained his ears, listening to whatever clue that would give the caller away. He could hear faint breathing, shallow and irregular.

"Fuck!" he cussed and hung up the call, throwing the cellphone to the passenger's seat. He shoved his keys into the ignition, started the car and sped off, tires screeching.

* * *

><p>No matter what time of day, L2PD station was always bustling with activity; chaotic and noisy. Phones rang off the hook, cops rushed in and out, escorting punks, criminals, junkies and whores. Morning hours were relatively calm, but only to the trained eye.<p>

Duo strode hastily through the crowded mess, holding a paper coffee cup as he headed towards a desk marked _'Detective D. Maxwell'_. He settled heavily into his chair and began shuffling through a mountain of paperwork while sipping his beverage.

"Maxwell!" a gruff male voice called loudly; "Get your ass in here – NOW!"

The familiar, all too frequent shout, was coming from the Department's Chief's office. Duo sighed and walked over there resignedly. He closed the slat-blinds-covered glass door and turned to face the grumpy old man seated behind a hefty desk. He waited wordlessly to be admonished.

"Da fuck is that I hear you were snooping around The Pit last night?" the Chief burst heatedly the moment the door closed. "That place is _off limits_! No one goes near that drug lair until I say so – and I dun give a flying fuck if you useta be a fancy pilot or whatever! We don't do solo missions here, Maxwell!"

"I got a tip about Jesse," Duo stated calmly, unfazed by the man's menacing act. "I was just taking a look around. I didn't breach surveillance protocols or nuthin'."

"It's enough that my men saw you. Who knows who else did! Fuck, Maxwell, what were you thinking?! We lost three men down there last week. Ain't that enough? The place is _off limits – _period!"

"Yeah, yeah, heard you the first time, Chief," Duo sighed, rubbing his face tiredly. "Are we done?"

"I got 'nough of Earth breathing down ma neck for that crazy new shit floodin' their streets. _L2 Magic_ they're callin' it! _Fuckin' assholes _want the whole damn world ta know where their shit's comin' from! I don't need you bustin' my operation. The DEA is all over me as it is! Do I have to remind you what would happen if shit hits the fan and Earth cuts off support to L2? Do you want the whole colony to look like The Pit?! Is that it?! You wanna singlehandedly turn us back into God forsaken slums?!"

"No, sir... of course not," Duo mumbled, casting his gaze down in an attempt to control his temper and avoid an insolent outburst.

"Then get that stupid brain of yours workin' or I swear to God I'll—"

"Chief," a female officer opened the office door and peeked into the room; "the governor's on line one."

"Shit," the older man cussed, shaking his head as he reached for his phone. "I'm not done with you," he warned Duo, waving a reprimanding figner as he picked up the receiver. "Now scoot," he ordered and motioned the young cop to leave.

Duo turned to the door, his fist clenched tightly around the doorknob; he yanked it open. He stopped at the open doorway, his head bowed low and his back still facing the Chief. "Jesse was Joe's kid," he reminded his boss quietly; "I'm just looking out for what's left of my partner."

The Chief sighed, his harsh expression softening slightly. "I know," he whispered softly, his finger hovering over the button that will connect the governor's call. "But there's only so much we can do for someone who doesn't want to be saved," he concluded grimly and then finally pressed the button. "Robert! Well this is a surprise..." he greeted in a much more pleasant voice, spinning his chair around to face away from the doorway; "What can I do for you?"

Duo left the office, slamming the door shut behind him. A small crowd was gathered around the TV set hanging on the wall in the far corner of the large room. Frowning at the unusual sight, Duo approached; curious to see what the commotion was all about. Looking up at the footage, he saw some kind of press conference being held in front of a bustling crowd. A smartly-dressed female spokesperson was addressing the media from a press podium on a stage. A row of law enforcement personnel sat behind her. There was a Preventer insignia on the screen behind them, along with a New York City seal.

"...Meanwhile, we are doing everything we can to ensure that the population remains alert of the situation," the woman addressed her audience. "There is no need for panic, but caution is advised."

"Does this mean there might be attacks on the general population?" one reported interjected. "Are we dealing with a terrorist or a serial killer?"

"That has yet to be determined," the woman explained calmly. "So far there's no clear indication of national motives behind the killings, but given the victims' nature, the possibility hasn't been ruled out completely."

"Is that why Preventer is taking over the case?" another reporter asked; "Don't these murders fall by nature under NYPD's jurisdiction?"

The woman nodded, already prepared for the question, and leaned into the microphones. "A joint taskforce has been appointed to the case. This way the investigation will benefit from the expertise of both parties."

More reporters bombarded the woman with simultaneous questions. Duo watched the chaos numbly, not really interested in Earth's problems; they had enough of their own up here on L2.

A movement in the corner of the screen caught his eyes. A figure walked up hastily to the stage, moving in a brisk and familiar pace as it passed behind the spokeswoman and headed towards one of the officials sitting behind her. It was a young man, dressed in official type-A Preventer uniforms: black dress pants and a black jacket with khaki shoulder patches and a 'P' insignia on each sleeve. His brown hair was short yet messy at the front; a heap of unruly bangs concealing his face as he leaned down towards the older man he had approached, whispering something to him. He handed the man, his superior no doubt, a mobile phone and the man accepted it quietly. Duo watched, his eyes agape, as the young agent straightened back up, preparing to leave the stage. Before he did, he paused, just for a moment, his eyes catching the camera's lens. A pair of fierce Prussian blue eyes stared directly at him and Duo's breath hitched in his throat. He couldn't breathe. His heart thumped wildly. He watched, stunned, as the young agent turned on his heels and left the stage quickly, walking out of the camera's range.

"Can you believe this shit?" one cop approached Duo from behind and patted him on the back. "Them bitches just can't keep their hands off our turf," he grunted; "God damn Prevees. They don't think The Fives can catch that guy."

"What's this shit about anyway?" Duo huffed gruffly, not really interested.

"Some psycho runnin' amok, killing off their agents. Some fanatic or sumthin', but they keep saying he's a terrorist or whatever. It's been all ova the news lately, didn't ja hear?"

"Da fuck do I care what's goin' on over there!" Duo exclaimed bitterly; "Fucking _utopia_..." He turned away from the TV. "We got _real _work to do up here," he grunted and stomped back to his desk.

"Amen to that!" his colleague called after him, laughing.

* * *

><p>A couple of guys from work offered that he'd join them for a beer after hours and wouldn't take 'no' for an answer, like always. Ever since Joe's death, his peers did whatever they could to try to get him out more. He wasn't the socializing type; hasn't been one for a very long time now. He preferred to keep to himself, drinking alone in his apartment. It was easier to be alone, that way he didn't have to be reminded by every little thing how much it hurt to love and depend on someone.<p>

Dr. Gavin – the damn psychiatrist he was forced to visit weekly ever since Joe died – said that he should go out more, make some new friends. For a year she's been nagging him to go drink beer with his fellow cops, go out on dates... form relationships. _Bullshit_. The guys he worked with would _never_ go to the kind of bars he'd enjoy, and he couldn't risk anyone finding out. Like his hair wasn't a dead giveaway... cops were whispering about him in the locker-room all the time. The last thing he needed was to give them some solid confirmation. It would be the end of him. People weren't so open minded on L2; Joe was one of the few who knew and were actually okay about it. Now, he was dead.

Duo had no need for friends on the force; not anymore. He couldn't afford to have anyone... they all tended to die at one point or another: a bank robbery, gang-fights, drug busts... an L2PD cop's life expectancy wasn't a very long one. Now with that new poison on the streets, it was getting harder and harder to keep track of all the killings. Cops were dropping like flies. So no, he didn't need anyone; he was fine drinking alone. And as for romantic relationships... he was fine without those too. The last person he had dared opening up to spat in his face, crushed his heart and dumped it out the nearest airlock. So yeah, he was fine being alone, repressing shit, hurting and drinking in the darkness of his living room until memories of loneliness and rejection became just another bitter sting on his tongue.

He was in a fouler mood than usual today, so his peers had to practically drag him with them to their regular hanging joint – a small pub frequented by cops. They sat him at the bar with a jug of local beer and didn't leave him alone until he drank it. L2 brew was hard to swallow, but that was the point. You weren't a part of the place if you couldn't keep it down.

Soon enough his fellow cops were pretty tipsy. They joked around, jeering and taunting each other in a friendly manner, telling dirty jokes and laughing drunkenly. Duo sat quietly, hunched over his beer, brooding and glaring at the polished bar surface.

"Check that one out," one of his peers said and elbowed Duo in the ribs to get his attention. "Red dress," he pointed out; "Man, that must be a seven or an eight."

Duo looked up, glancing briefly at a girl standing at the other side of the bar. She was a pretty brunette wearing a tight red dress and too much makeup. He looked back down at his drink, his expression sullen. "A six maybe," he muttered and took a long gulp, after which he added: "but definitely not an eight." He took another swig of beer.

The young cop laughed. "We should definitely have a talk 'bout your taste in women!" he joked and took a sip from his own beer. "That broad ain't nowhere near a six!" He placed his empty beer jug on the bar, beaming with confidence. "I'm makin' a move."

Another cop, an older man, shook his head, laughing. "You gotta 'nother thing comin' for ya if you think you stand a chance next to _that_ guy over there."

That got Duo's attention. He looked up, his eyes fixing on the young man standing next to the girl in the red dress; he was a dark and strapping man of Latin origin. Duo studied him quietly, his eyes lingering far too long for his gaze to remain innocent. He sighed and cast his eyes back down. He took a swig of beer, emptying the jug quickly, watching his peer through the glass as the young cop left to make his flirtations anyway. Having a will of their own, his eyes slowly drifted back towards the handsome young man standing next to the girl. He watched him from behind the shelter of his beer mug. Once he realized he was ogling, Duo quickly looked away. He set the beer down and signaled the bartender to approach. "Get me sumthin' real to drink," he demanded bitterly; "Jameson, straight up... and keep 'em comin'."

* * *

><p>A powerful and scalding shower stream beat down against Duo's muscular back. The tanned skin on his well-toned backside was tarnished with faded traces of scar-tissue – old welts. He stood under the showerhead, resting his forehead against the cool white porcelain wall. His arms dangled lifelessly at his sides, water sliding down his sturdy limbs. His long hair was undone, wet and plastered over his well-toned backside. His shoulders were slumped in exhaustion and his eyes were closed as he allowed the hot water to wash over his naked body.<p>

Images flickered like a dying flame behind his closed eyelids: Memories of sleek nude male bodies, taut, needy and wet, moving together in clumsy passion under the shower stream inside a narrow, shady stall. Hungry hands and mouths exploring... touching... everywhere. Nothing was ever close enough, never good enough, but still... there was an effort to connect, an attempt to answer burning needs and unidentified desires. Fierce blue eyes burnt with lust as steely hands gripped him by his hips, pulling him closer, about to devour him. The sex was desperate; brutal, hot and furious. It was so good, so primal and so... so long ago.

Duo shuddered under the water stream, groaning helplessly as he came into his own hand. He kept his head pressed against the wall; his eyes clenched tightly until his breath evened. He turned off the water and shoved the shower curtain aside. He was immediately faced with a fogged mirror reflecting his blurry image. He stood still, staring at it numbly, his eyes seeing something else entirely. His eyes saw Heero; no longer a teenage boy, but a man: tall, strapping, dark and intense. Jesus Christ... Heero must have been on that screen for less than fifteen seconds and that was more than enough to send Duo spiraling back into a past he tried so hard to put behind him.

Duo blinked and the image of Heero's piercing blue gaze was replaced with his own reflection. The steam has cleared and Duo could now see his image clearly. It was not the same image that flickered in his mind just now. This body was older; fuller and taller. He too was no longer a boy; no longer worshiped by those steely hands; no longer looked at by those fiery Prussian blue eyes... except for today. Today those eyes seemed to look straight at him, as though seeing only him through thousands of miles across Earth and Space. He felt that gaze as if it was really on him. He shuddered at memory and then froze, angry with himself. He glared at his reflection, his eyes full of reproach.

"Fucking stupid," he hissed and then snatched a towel, refusing to look at himself any further.

Duo sat at his desk, sipping black coffee from a paper cup while working on his computer. The usual commotion bustled all around him, but years in the force have taught him to tune it out and concentrate on whatever he was doing. Currently, he was browsing the Preventer database, or at least the small portion of it he, as Colony law enforcement, was allowed to access. He was sifting through personnel files, looking for a particular name. It wasn't easy to find and some light hacking was required, something that might get him in trouble if anyone found out, but he didn't care. Let curiosity kill the cat; he had walked much finer lines in the past and was still breathing, so who cared.

Finally, he reached the file he was searching for:

PERSONNEL FILE NO. 72531101 / AGENT YUY HEERO

Duo pointed the cursor on the link that would open the file, but stopped, hesitating. His finger hovered over the mouse's button. He tapped on it anxiously, but never hard enough to actually click it. He stared at the file name until his vision blurred and he could no longer make out Heero's name. Finally, as though developing a will of its own, his finger pressed down. The page loaded slowly. Duo took a deep breath and straightened in his seat, suddenly nervous, as though by entering the file he was about to actually meet with Heero for the first time in eight years. Stupid, but there was no denying the anxiety he felt.

The file finally loaded and suddenly he was looking straight at Heero's face, the familiar harsh features glaring at him through the monitor. For a second, Duo froze, unable to shake off the feeling of being face-to-face with the man he tried to forget for so many years. Those intense Prussian blue eyes were peering straight into him, so fucking _real_, even though it was just a damn passport photo.

The photo must be recent, Duo gathered, because Heero looked pretty much the same as seen on TV: a devilishly handsome twenty-four year-old man, dressed in type-A Preventer uniforms and glaring at the camera with a brooding expression and penetrative blue eyes capable of warding-off anyone who dared looking into them. Matured into his twenties, Heero seemed even more intense. God damn him, he was even more gorgeous as a man than he's ever been as a teenage boy... a deadly and irresistible kind of gorgeous. Fuck.

It was a while before Duo was able to tear his eyes off the photo and skim through the file. Most of the information was concealed, censored because it was classified information to anyone accessing via this specific connection, but the service record still contained enough information to paint a sketchy picture of Heero's post-war life:

**PREVENTER HR:**

**PERSONNEL FILE NO. 72531101**

**SECURITY CLEARANCE: TS/SCI**

**Name:** Yuy, Heero

**PIN:** 72531101

**Born:** N/A, Est. AC 180

**Status:** Active

**01.23.197: **Recruited as agent no. 72531101 at the European HQ, Brussels, Belgium, ESUN. No training required.

**01.24.197: **Served under the Operations Branch – Counterterrorism Division – National Security Branch – European HQ, Brussels, Belgium, ESUN. Appointed Field Agent, Special Agent.

**04.16.199: **Transferred to the Operations Branch – Counterterrorism Division – National Security Branch – North America HQ, Washington DC, United States of America, ESUN. Appointed Field Agent, Special Agent.

**12.27.202: **Inactive: Paid medical leave.

**02.07.204: **Returned to active duty. Not cleared for field duty.

**02.12.204: **Transferred to the Cyber Division – Criminal, Cyber, Response, and Services Branch – NYC Field Office, New York City, NY, United States of America, ESUN. Appointed Assistant Special Agent-in-Charge.

**11.02.204: **Cleared for field duty.

Transferred to the Violent Crimes Section – Criminal Investigative Division – Criminal, Cyber, Response, and Services Branch – NYC Field Office, New York City, NY, United States of America, ESUN. Appointed Field Agent, Special Agent.

**Medals:**

**05.15.198: **Medal for Meritorious Achievement

**02.22.200: **Shield of Bravery

**04.07.201: **Medal of Valor

**12.30.202: **Preventer Star

It was quite an impressive track record [[i]], but there was not enough information to satisfy his curiosity. From what Duo could gather Heero started off just where he had left him in Brussels after The Second Eve Conflicts ended back in Christmas AC 196. He continued to save the world while working for Preventer's National Security Branch, serving under the Counterterrorism Division. He was later honored with a Medal for Meritorious Achievement, which meant that he had taken part in something big – not surprisingly – and was awarded for "extraordinary and exceptional meritorious service in a duty of extreme challenge and great responsibility"... _whatever._

Then he was transferred to DC's Counterterrorism Division, right around the time – if Duo recalled correctly – Relena Darlian was elected as a member of the ESUN Parliament situated in Brussels. It was an educated guess, because he never bothered following Earth's affairs, especially when it came to politics and even more so if it had anything to do with Ms. Darlian. In fact, he avoided news about her like fire. So Duo opened a new browser window and looked it up to confirm his suspicion. It turned out he was right, which meant only one thing: the two split up in April AC 199. She stayed behind in Europe and Heero fled to the other side of the planet. Duo almost smiled. He wished he'd known that sooner. Then again... would it have made a difference? Probably not.

Heero stayed in DC for a few years (probably the longest he's ever stayed in one place), during which he was awarded with more medals: one for "brave and courageous acts occurring in the line of duty associated with the highest priority cases", as explained in a footnote; another "in recognition of an exceptional act of heroism or voluntary risk of personal safety and life in the direct line of duty", as another footnote mentioned; and lastly he was awarded with the Preventer Star, which was awarded "for serious injury sustained in the direct line of duty from physical confrontation that would require comprehensive medical treatment for a sustained period of time" – Duo didn't even have to read the footnote for that one, because it was pretty clear that whatever happened in Christmas AC 202 had rendered Heero inactive for the whole year of AC 203 and then some.

Then, in AC 204, he returned to active duty and was transferred to New York about ten months ago, serving under a different branch, one responsible for investigating all types of crime, as well as overseeing all computer-based-crime related to counterterrorism, counterintelligence, and criminal threats. Since he was serving as an A-SAC in the Cyber Division, Duo could only conclude that whatever happened to Heero also dictated that he'd fill a desk job position upon his return to duty. It was only a few weeks ago that he was brought back to active field agent duty, under the Criminal Investigative Division, Violent Crimes Section. Duo couldn't help but wonder if it had anything to do with the killings everyone was fretting about. Why else would Heero be at that press conference?

Heaving a melancholic sigh, Duo leaned back into his squeaky chair, one hand tapping on his desk restlessly. He stared at the file in front of him, his expression numb, pensive.

His own service record paled before Heero's. If Preventer's _superstar Agent Yuy_ ever bothered looking it up – which Duo was pretty certain that he had at some point – all there was to find was pretty damn standard: Joined the L2PD force in AC 198, promoted to sergeant in AC 201, made 3rd grade detective in AC 204, got a few official reprimands noted for reckless behavior and endangering fellow officers, and that's about it. No fancy decorations or anything. Duo was done saving the world and shit. He contributed to his community by working as a detective in the slums he knew so well, fighting crime, drugs and prostitution – which were just as bad as world-threatening terrorism! He was basically a rugged street cop, nothing fancy like Heero's line of work as a top-of-the-line super-agent. Duo found his fulfillment saving the lives of a few street kids here and there; nothing big, but still very rewarding. It was enough. Anything more would be unbearable.

He had built himself a new life on L2 and deliberately lost touch with anything and anyone who tied him to his role as a Gundam pilot. His goal was to begin anew and put his past behind him. To do that, he kept busy – _extremely_ busy. If he wasn't working, always pulling extra shifts, then he was volunteering at the local homeless shelter or youth center. He used every other spare minute to work out, practice at the shooting range or drop like a timber on his bed and sleep like a log. That way, there was no time left to think and process horrors, even though he encountered vicious reminders of his childhood on L2-V08744 every single day. If he had nightmares, he was oblivious of them; he was too tired to dream, which was probably why he hadn't seen even the slightest hint of Heero's face in almost eight years.

And now he was digging around Heero's service record! What the Hell?!

"Jesus," Duo exhaled in self-reproach and hurried to close his browser software. Heero's photo vanished from the screen. Out of sight, out of mind, Duo decided. That was enough self-flagellation for one day. He had cases to work on... and a seventeen-year-old kid to get out of trouble before it's too late.

As though reading his mind, his cellphone, resting by the keyboard, started ringing. Duo turned to look at it, his eyes glued to the words _'N/A'_ displayed boldly on the screen. It was an unknown number. His stomach churned uneasily. He had a bad feeling about this...

He picked up the phone, his finger hesitating a moment before touching the "accept" button. He brought the phone to his ear and greeted: "Maxwell," with a brisk, cold, tone.

This time, the reply was immediate. "Would that be Duo Maxwell?" a deep male voice asked; smug and creepy. Duo straightened in his seat, alert.

"Yeah, who's askin'?" he demanded harshly.

"A friend of a friend," the voice replied in a disturbingly imperturbable tone. "I won't take much of your time," the man promised; "Just answer me this, if you will:" he paused for dramatic effect and then resumed: "how much do you care about him?"

Duo scowled darkly. "About who?" he spat, then gasped; "Jesse? Is this about Jesse?!" he exclaimed, suddenly flustered, and jumped out of his seat.

"He's going to need your help," the spine-chilling voice continued; "Will you come through for him?"

"Listen man, if he's in some kinda trouble I can fix it. I'll pay up or whatever – I got the doe! Just tell me what, when and where and I'm there, man – no funny stuff, I swear!"

He was answered by a long silence, which hopefully meant that the man was contemplating his offer.

"Christ, man... He's just a kid..." Duo urged him, almost pleading. "There's gotta be sumthin' I can d—" he couldn't finish his argument, because the man on the other line hung up.

"Shit!" Duo called and fell back into his chair. He slammed his cellphone against the table, banging it loudly. "Dammit!"

* * *

><p>He was tempted to drive by The Pit on his way home, but soon regretted it. The Chief was right. He couldn't go in there without a plan... without backup. He was walking a fine line as it was, and that was why he eventually turned home. The Pit could wait; Jesse wasn't going anywhere. He will come up with a plan first, then get him the Hell out of that Hellhole.<p>

He parked his car in front of a rundown apartment building; an enormous tenement complex typical of L2's former slums. Moving routinely, he placed a sturdy steering-wheel lock on the wheel. Once out of the car, he put an adjustable wheel-lock on the front tire and only then turned to take his things out of the car, locked it and headed towards the building. L2-V08744 didn't exactly have an uptown or a downtown. Every neighborhood was pretty much 'the wrong side of the tracks'; some were just worse than others. Duo's apartment building was located in a more or less quiet urban neighborhood, but one could never be careful enough on L2. The old sedan might look pretty crappy, but it was still a target for local delinquents.

Duo climbed up the stairs leading to the top floor, holding a hefty paper bag full of groceries in his arms. He steadied the bag in one hand before reaching his free hand into his pocket to fish out his keys. The set of keys jingled softly while swinging in his hand and he whistled a vague tune to go along with it.

Two flights of stairs later he finally reached his floor and headed towards his apartment down the hall. He halted when he noted a little boy standing next to his closed door. He was a dark haired child of Latin origin, about six or seven years old, dressed in shabby clothes, a hungry look in his dark brown eyes... the eyes of a neglected puppy.

Duo fought to put on a smile and resumed his approach. "Hey Tomás!" he greeted cheerfully; "What's the matter? Your momma accidently locked you out again?" he asked, even though the answer was quite clear. He could hear the unmistakable moaning emitting from the door of the apartment next to his as he passed by it. The boy's mother was hard at work, which was why she had locked him out.

The boy just kept looking at him with big sad eyes. Duo's strained smile faltered and he turned to unlock his apartment door.

"How about dinner? Sounds nice?" he offered and a small, shy, smile graced the child's lips. "Yeah, bet it does!" Duo called a bit too cheerfully and opened the door, letting the boy in. "I'll get right on it," he promised as he marched towards the small kitchenette and switched on a light. He placed the grocery bag on the small kitchen counter and reached a hand to rummage through its contents, finally pulling out a chocolate candy bar. He handed it to the boy.

"Don't tell your momma I let you have dessert before dinner, huh?" he said with a wink. The child smiled, for real this time, and nodded shyly, accepting the snack with eager hands. He settled on a chair by a small kitchen table, enjoying his snack while watching Duo unpack his groceries. The last two items Duo pulled out of the bag were two frozen TV dinners.

"What will it be tonight," he presented the boy with his choices: "Mac and Cheese or chicken curry?"

The boy contemplated the question quietly, before pointing at the box with a picture of rice and red chicken curry.

"Excellent choice!" Duo complimented the child, still smiling like an idiot; he couldn't help it, children made him uncomfortable, especially the quiet ones.

"I woulda gone with it too... the Mac and Cheese don't look too edible... da fuck did I buy it anyway?" he chattered on, filling the silence with useless words because otherwise it would become too disturbing and remind him of what he tried to forget: ever since his mother was attacked by one of her clients, Tomás stopped talking. The bastard had raped her brutally without payment, right before the boy's eyes. The only reason the two were even alive was because Duo heard the screaming and stormed into their apartment in the middle of the night, gun drawn, ready to protect and serve – which he had, and just in the nick of time. Ever since, Tomás's mother made sure that her son was safely out of the apartment before accepting clients. But the boy had nowhere to go while she worked. If Duo didn't take him in, the boy roamed the streets and that would eventually lead to one thing – some gang will get its hands on the boy and recruit him into their ranks. That was unacceptable, so Duo tried to help whenever he could. It sure beat spending the evening brooding alone. Now that he thought about it, he should really get a pet...

The microwave oven beeped to signal that the meals were ready. Duo served them to the table and the two sat down to eat.

* * *

><p>Later that night Duo was sitting on his sofa, watching TV in the dark. Tomás was lying curled against him the couch, covered by a blanket, his head resting in Duo's lap. Duo had one arm resting over the boy, wrapped around him protectively and holding a remote. His other hand was holding a half-empty beer bottle. One empty bottle was already resting on the coffee table; the green glass reflecting the flickering TV light. Duo sipped his drink quietly, his numb cobalt eyes staring mindlessly at the television screen as he flipped through the channels with no sound on.<p>

He was changing stations so fast that it took his brain a second to process an image that caught his interest: he was pretty certain that he saw footage of the Brooklyn Bridge at night. He flipped back a couple of stations until he found it again. It was some sort of newscast featuring New York City. A title at the bottom of the screen read: _'Breaking News: a 7__th__ body found in NYC'_. A young woman, a pretty redhead with freckled white porcelain features and bright green eyes, was talking to the camera, a microphone shoved in her face. She was dressed in Preventer uniform and standing by the riverside, the Brooklyn Bridge somewhere far behind her. It was very windy, because the few red locks of hair straying from her up-do were being tousled wildly by the wind. She tucked them repeatedly behind her ear as she spoke to the camera, shouting over the wind. Duo turned the volume up slightly so he could hear.

"...and that's about all we know at this point!" she concluded, sounding a bit peeved. The camera shifted to the side, revealing a male reporter holding the mike. The man looked squarely at the lens, his expression grim.

"So there you have it, Todd," he opened dramatically; "as mentioned by Agent Shaw here, the crime scene is still in initial stages of investigation and as you can see there's a joint NYPD and Preventer force scouting the area," he gestured at the scene behind him and the camera turned to show the many police officers and Preventer agents working the scene as the reporter continued: "But from what they've gathered so far," the man stated sternly, "it looks like he's hit again."

The news anchor in the studio was asking something, but Duo stopped listening. He couldn't. His brain stopped working the second his eyes spotted a familiar figure walking through the crime scene: Heero. He was dressed in Preventer uniform and speaking to an NYPD officer while taking notes. The redheaded agent who was just interviewed joined him, also addressing the cop.

The footage changed to old archive footage of the case; cops scouting various crime scenes.

"They call him _the Redeemer_," a dramatic female voice narrated the item; "and he's been terrorizing New York City for over three months..."

Next appeared a picture of one of the victims, or so Duo assumed; it was a stills photo of a young Latin woman smiling at the camera.

"Jessica Gomez was found dead on September AC 204 and is assumed to be the first in a long line of victims," the female narrator continued; "Jessica left her husband and children one Tuesday morning and went missing for over—"

There was a knock on the door. Duo sighed and carefully maneuvered Tomás off of him so he could get up and answer the door. A young woman waited there; a tall and skinny Hispanic woman dressed in a black-satin robe that barely concealed her sexy black-lace lingerie. Her long brown hair was a mess and she was looking up at Duo with a pair of dark bleary eyes.

"Is he here?" she asked with a husky, tired voice.

"Yeah," Duo replied solemnly. "He's sleepin'."

The young woman peeked into the apartment, her eyes searching for her son. She spotted him lying on the sofa, covered by a blanket.

"He had dinner, watched some TV, showered and then bed," Duo informed her and she turned to him with guilty eyes.

"Thanks," she whispered; "Anything I can do to make it up to you for your troubles?" she asked carefully, shifting to a more suggestive pose. She was offering her services, obviously. Duo shook his head, sighing.

"How about you get some decent rest and come back when you ain't completely wasted," he offers harshly; "Tomás can sleep here tonight. Ain't no biggie," he added with a smile. She hesitated, but eventually took him up on his offer and left, nodding gratefully.

Duo locked the door behind her and walked back to the sofa. He tucked Tomás tightly under the blanket and picked up the remote. He looked back at the TV. The story about the killer in NYC was still playing. The narrator kept talking over footage of the case. Duo spotted Heero in quite a few of video clips, always with the redheaded agent. Duo couldn't tear his eyes off him. So engrossed in the images flickering on the screen, he barely noticed that his cellphone was ringing; the sound was coming from the kitchen.

He sighed. Only a snitch would be calling at this ungodly hour. He stomped to the kitchen and snatched the phone off the counter, his eyes quickly catching the _'N/A'_ ID on the screen; typical of a snitch.

"Hang up on me one more time and I'm done talkin'," he hissed without greeting once he answered the call. He was sick of games. "Tell me what you want and make it snappy."

For a moment, there was only silence. Duo waited impatiently, pacing his small kitchen. He didn't have the nerve to follow up on his threat and hang up. Not if this was really about Jesse.

After a moment's pause, a male voice finally spoke: "I wasn't talking about Jesse," it said in the same eerie tone from before, referring to their last conversation.

Duo ceased pacing, his back tensing visibly. "Then who da fuck _were_ you talkin' 'bout?" he demanded angrily, glancing briefly at the sofa to make sure the kid was still sleeping; he was. Duo turned back around and leaned into his phone, whispering: "Da fuck do you want anyway!"

"Information," came the short, haughty, reply.

"Yeah, well, this cop ain't sellin' any!" he hissed darkly; "But I'm on the market if you got anythin' good to tell me. Maybe sumthin' 'bout Magic?" he added a careful suggestion, venturing a guess about the strange caller's motives.

"I am not in that line of business," the man replied calmly.

"Then da fuck you want with me! Who gave you this number? One of the snitches, right? Only they have it, so don't try to bullshit me!"

"Acquiring your number was not a problem."

"Then what da fuck _is_ your problem!"

"A dilemma," the man replied slickly; "An enigma only you can help me solve."

"Gee, can you be a little_ less _cryptic?"

Silence; he had given the wrong answer. Snitches were funny that way. You had to say the right thing or they bolted. Duo sighed. "Okay, okay, ask away," he said instead, playing into the man's game just so he could see where it might lead. "I'll do my best to answer."

"Good," the man approved. "You have to promise to be truthful."

"I never lie."

"Very well," the man sounded pleased. He paused briefly before raising his question: "You accessed his record today. Why?"

Duo's heart jumped into his throat. The man had to be talking about Heero's service record. He swallowed, hard, his hand shaking slightly. Could this be someone from Preventer's Cyber Security Division? Holy shit, were they onto him already? It was just a small hack... he didn't even look at anything fishy! But he had lingered for too long... that was stupid.

"I, uhm, I'm not sure what you mean..." he murmured in avoidance and resumed pacing the kitchen nervously.

"You said you never lie," the voice accused.

"It ain't no lie," Duo hurried to defend himself; "Clarify your question."

"Alright," the man agreed; "I'll rephrase: Why did you access Heero Yuy's service record today at ten thirty a.m. L2 time?"

Duo stopped pacing. He turned to look in the direction of the sofa, looking quietly at the slumbering child. He sighed and turned away, flopping tiredly into a kitchen chair.

"Because I was curious," he replied quietly, closing his eyes in shame. "I was curious to see what he's been doing since... since I've last seen him."

"Because you saw him on TV?"

Duo's head jerked up, his eyes snapping open, flashing with anger. "What?! Da fuck should I know! What are you – a God damn shrink?! Jesus! Look, if you're looking for a security risk – you ain't gonna find it! If you're who I think you are, then you already know who I am and you know_ exactly_ why I was snooping around his file! I'm sure he's done the same with my record at some point, right? Right? So back off!"

Silence, and then:

"Why do you assume that he would look at your record?" the voice asked calmly.

The question had Duo stumped. "Huh?"

"Why would Heero Yuy bother checking up on you – an L2 cop?"

"Hey! I don't like what you're insinuating here! I'm as straight as an arrow – an honest to God cop!"

"You're an ex-terrorist and an ex-junkie who could barely make detective because he could not be fully trusted," the man corrected in a harsh and arrogant tone. "It would be very naïve of you to assume that no one has been keeping an eye on you over the years, Zero Two. But then you now assume that out of all people, it would be Zero One who checks up on you. Why?"

"What—? I—I don't know!"

"But you're certain that he has."

"Yeah, so? What's it to you anyway?"

"Why do you assume he cares? Why would he care about a man he hasn't been in contact with for almost eight years?"

The prick was touching way too many raw nerves. Duo burst: "What da fuck is this?! I wanna get some ID confirmation before I answer any more of your _stupid_ questions! Gimme your badge number or I'm hangin' up! I'm a Colony citizen! You have _no right_ to grill me over shit! This is _way off_ of your jurisdiction, dickhead, so give me your Preventer identification code – now!"

"Thank you for your cooperation," the voice said calmly; "I have what I need." The call was disconnected, replaced by a monotone dial tone.

Duo stared at his phone for a few good minutes, completely shaken. What the Hell was going on?

* * *

><p>[i] All of the information in Heero's file is based on the FBI's structure and honorary system.<p> 


	2. Chapter 2: NYC

**Reminder: **I'm only posting chapters 1-8. Chapters 9-18 are rated MA and hence no longer suitable for this archive. As I've mentioned before, you can find the complete story (all 18 chapters) on the AO3 archive (just follow the link on my profile page. You can also download the eBook).

Elle

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 02: NYC<strong>

A gray December morning dawned outside a Manhattan apartment window, shedding dim gray light into a small, tidy, living room. A figure lay on the sofa under the window, curled under a heavy blanket, legs folded upwards because the sofa was too short for its sleeping occupant. A head of short, rich chocolate-brown hair was peeking out of the thick cover; spiky bangs sprawled in a mess over the pillow, concealing a face nuzzled between the cushion and the sofa's backrest.

Somewhere in the small apartment, a door opened. Feet padded quietly across the carpet as another figure moved beyond the living room, crossing the apartment. A cupboard was opened, hinges creaking softly. There was some ceramic clanking, painfully loud in the morning stillness. The sleeping figure nuzzled its head closer into the sofa, burrowing deeper under the warm blanket.

A drawer was opened next, utensils rattling with a sharp metallic jingle. The racket was soon followed by the intolerable roar of the coffeemaker.

Prussian blue eyes snapped open, glaring irritably at the sofa's backrest. A muscular arm threw the blanket aside in one swift motion and the no-longer-sleeping sofa's occupant shot up to a sitting position, glaring daggers in the direction of the kitchen. Dressed in a sloppy white T-shirt wrinkled by a restless sleep, his messy bangs spiking out in every direction, the young man looked no more threatening than a petulant little boy.

"It's about time you woke up," an amused female voice berated teasingly. A young woman emerged from the kitchen, dressed in Preventer uniform and holding two steaming mugs of coffee. She was a petite redhead, also in her mid-twenties. Her pale features were freckled and a subtle touch of makeup emphasized her bright-green eyes. She settled on a comfy chair by the sofa and placed one mug on the coffee table. She leaned back comfortably, holding her own steaming beverage with both hands, keeping them warm.

"Another minute and I would have poured a bucket of cold water over your head," she joked with a pleasant smile; "Really, Heero, I didn't take you for such a sleepyhead."

The smile vanished from her lips as soon as she was faced with Heero's icy glare.

"I'm just saying..." she explained apologetically, "...it's getting harder for you to wake up in the morning. You should talk to Sloan."

"Having difficulties waking up in the morning hardly qualifies as something to report to Sloan," Heero retorted with a sleep-heavy voice and reached for his coffee. He settled back into the sofa, the blanket pooling over his lap, and drank quietly, avoiding her prying eyes. She sighed, frustrated.

They drank in silence. Heero finished his coffee first and got up, throwing the blanket aside and revealing his blue boxer shorts and slightly hairy legs. A long white scar ran along the entire length of his left knee and up to his kneecap; traces of traumatic injury. There was a slight, nearly unnoticeable limp in his stride as he marched towards the bathroom and locked the door behind him.

Leaning over the sink, Heero splashed ice-cold water on his face. He rubbed his numb features repeatedly, moaning wretchedly into the wet palms of his hands. He straightened back up, his untrimmed bangs dripping icy droplets onto his face, and stared numbly at his reflection. There were dark bags under his bloodshot eyes and he was in definite need for a shave. He gaped at his unkempt image until his vision blurred and his eyelids threatened to flutter shut. He quickly caught himself and slapped his own cheeks, shaking his head in an attempt to clear the drowsiness fogging his mind. He leaned over the sink again, opening the faucet full-blast, clenched his eyes shut and shoved his head under the cold stream. When he finally pulled away, his hair was drenched and plastered flatly over his head, dripping and soaking his white T-shirt.

There were two toothbrushes by the sink: one red, one blue. He reached for the blue one and brushed his teeth furiously, a hard and angry expression on his sleep-deprived face.

* * *

><p>Morning traffic was a bitch. As one would expect, crossing Manhattan was a slow and tedious task during rush hour. Seated in the driver's seat of a black SUV, dressed in Preventer uniform, Heero glared out the windshield at the endless column of cars up ahead. His fingers tapped on the wheel impatiently.<p>

His redheaded companion sat in the passenger seat. She was looking at her visor-mirror, smearing pale-peach colored lipstick on her thin lips. Heero quickly shifted his glance back to the road, tearing his gaze away. He rubbed his stubble covered chin and released a quiet, irate, sigh.

"We could've beat traffic if you would have woken up on time," the young redheaded agent rebuked and snapped the visor shut.

"Duly noted," Heero grunted, clearly irked.

A cellphone started ringing a plain standard ringtone. It was Heero's car phone; a standard-issued device for all Preventer field-agents. Their calls were directed straight to it from their mobile devices while driving. The car phone kept on ringing, but Heero ignored it. His redheaded partner shifted her eyes down to look at the modern device hanging from the dashboard. The caller ID read: _'Her'_. She turned to Heero, scowling.

"Are you going to answer it?" she demanded, annoyed.

"No," he grunted and the young woman shook her head in silent admonishment. She leaned forward and reached to turn on the radio. Mindless chatter immediately filled the silence. The cellphone was still ringing. Heero's hands clenched tightly around the steering wheel in a subtle display of anger, and traffic across Franklin D. Roosevelt Drive continued to crawl by slowly...

* * *

><p>Even on a cloudy day the view from the top floor of Preventer's NYC office was impressive. Rising 52 stories above ground level, standing on the top floor and looking out of any window, one could enjoy a clear view of Lower Manhattan and the surrounding neighborhoods.<p>

Sitting tensely on a comfortable sofa in a small office overlooking the southeastern part of Manhattan, Heero gazed out a large window and stared numbly at the view, his eyes glued to a small visible patch of the East River; he could somehow make out the Brooklyn Bridge.

A middle-aged man sat in a tall leather armchair opposite of the sofa, his legs crossed. His deeply receding hairline was turning gray at the sideburns. His pleasant features were those of a well-mannered man, temperate yet calculated. He was dressed in a simple gray suit and a pair of elegant golden-framed eyeglasses rested over the bridge of his nose. He was holding a large yellow notepad in his lap and leaning his head against his arm, clearly bored as he doodled absentmindedly; the pad was already filled with endless scribbles.

A large black and white clock hung above the door behind the man. It was a quarter to twelve, noon. In the thick silence of the room, the ticking of the clock was heard clearly. The man in the suit turned around to look at it, noted the time, and heaved a long sigh. He turned back to face Heero. The young Preventer agent was still staring out the window, a numb expression on his unshaved face. His posture was rigid; stiff shoulders, arms stretched forward tensely and his clenched fists resting over his kneecaps.

"How goes your effort to quit smoking?" the man finally broke the heavy silence.

"Fine," Heero replied automatically, never turning to face away from the window.

"If you're using a nicotine patch, I have to know about it," the man elaborated; "I don't want it to interfere with your prescriptions."

"No patch," Heero muttered, his fists curling inwards even more, tightening angrily.

"Really?" the man marveled; "You're going on will power alone?"

"It's enough."

The lengthy silence returned, before the man raised another question:

"Any breakthroughs in the investigation?"

Heero finally turned away from the window, his eyes searching for the clock above the door. It was seven minutes to twelve.

"None so far," he replied quietly, casting his gaze back down.

The man nodded. He turned a new page on his notepad.

"Before you go," he began with a sigh; "I have to run the check-list by you, alright?"

Heero nodded his consent and straightened readily in his seat, fists clenched over his thighs.

The man's pen hovered over the notepad, ready to write Heero's answers down.

"Is everything alright between you and Agent Shaw?"

"We're professionals," was the immediate, typical, answer.

"I never said you weren't. Please don't avoid the question."

Heero sighed, shifting uncomfortably. He turned to look out the window again, rubbing the stubble on his chin with annoyance.

"We're good."

"Are you sure?" the man pressed and Heero's face hardened into an angry glare.

"Why?" he demanded, turning to glower at the man; "Has she said anything?"

"I'm not at liberty to say."

Heero scoffed and turned to gaze out the window again. "I'm not used to it, that's all."

"You know that this is strictly voluntary, right Heero? Just say the word and I will put an end to this madness. We'll have you back on Cyber in no time."

For a moment, Heero just stared at the view, contemplating the offer.

"That won't be necessary," he finally said, his voice wavering ever so slightly.

"You hesitated," the man pointed out.

Heero cleared his throat and turned to face the man, looking at him evenly. "I did not."

The man sighed and leaned back into his seat. "And are the new prescriptions helping at all?"

"I'm fine."

"No side-effect? Mood swings? Drowsiness? Disorientation?"

"None."

"Agitation?" He studied Heero's scowling face for a moment and smiled awkwardly. "Right," he mumbled, writing something down. "How about nausea?"

"No."

"How's your appetite?"

"The usual."

"Nightmares?"

"Nothing new."

"Anxiety?"

"...under control."

The man took some notes, nodding gravely. "It's almost Christmas..." he said carefully; "Any episodes?"

Heero shook his head firmly. "No."

"You seem tired. Are you getting enough sleep?"

"Her sofa is killing me."

"Is that a 'no'?"

"I make do."

"Are you sure that it's just the sofa?"

"It's too small. Hurts my leg."

The man huffed in amusement.

"Are you sticking with PT?" he asked while writing something down.

"Yes," Heero hurried to confirm; "A few more sessions and I'm done."

The man nodded in approval and then looked up, his eyes searching for Heero's who in return avoided his prying eyes by looking sideways.

"Is there anything else you'd like to add?" the man asked hopefully.

Heero's eyes shot up to look at the clock above the door. He watched the large hand move until it was pointing 12. He looked back down at the man.

"No," he declared and stood up, heading for the door. He stopped by the man's armchair and held his hand out, waiting to receive something. Heaving a frustrated sigh, the man reached for a smaller notepad lying on the table next to him. The title read: _'Confirmation of Attendance'_. He filled out Heero's name and the date and then stamped it with a green **FFD** stamp: fit for duty. He signed his name: _'Dr. G.D. Sloan'_ and handed Heero the note. The young agent accepted it quietly and turned to the door.

"Maybe next week we could do more than the check-list?" the doctor asked in a resigned tone, as though knowing it was useless.

"Maybe," Heero dismissed his request briskly and opened the door.

"I know it must be hard to change psychiatrists after so long," Sloan pressed on, stopping Heero at the doorway; "but I can be just as helpful as doctor Wright. If there's anything you need to talk about, I'm here."

Heero paused, just for a moment, and then nodded in acknowledgement. He stepped quietly out of the shrink's office and the door closed behind him with a final 'click'.

* * *

><p>It was late afternoon. A light snow shower was coming down over Manhattan's Lower East Side as Heero parked his black SUV in front of a small convenience store. He raised the collar of his Preventer jacket up to shield his exposed neck from the icy wind and hurried inside. Mere minutes later, he was done with his grocery shopping and was standing in the checkout line. An old woman ahead of him was taking her sweet time, pulling an endless line of coupons out of her hefty purse. Heero let out a quiet, frustrated sigh. His leg was beginning to hurt. He shifted his weight from one leg to the other and switched the shopping basket from his left hand to the right, trying to ease the pressure on his strained left leg.<p>

He scanned the rows of display racks by the register; all packed with eye-catching goodies. His gaze shifted upwards to a locked glass case above the cash register; it was full of cigarette packs. He stared at it lengthily, his eyes fixated on a particular brand: _'Winston Blue'_. Once he realized he'd been staring, Heero hurried to look elsewhere, his eyes searching the candy display rack and finally settling on a box full of colorful Skittles packs. He snatched a green one off the shelf and tore it open, throwing a few colorful candies into his mouth.

A cellphone started ringing; Heero recognized the plain ringtone as his own. He pulled the sleek device out of his jacket's pocket. The word _'Her'_ displayed boldly on the screen. He sighed and shoved the cellphone back into his pocket; it was still ringing.

His eyes fell on the magazine display. One in particular caught his eye: it was Time Magazine and on the cover was a photo of a stylishly dressed young blonde and blue-eyed woman gazing fiercely at the camera. The title read: _'Person of the Year: Relena Darlian' _and below a subtitle: _'Why Senator Darlian could be the next president of the ESUN'_.

Heero reached into his pocket, his finger searching for his ringing phone. He terminated the call and the device fell silent.

The old woman ahead of him finally paid and took off. Heero slammed his hand basket on the belt and quickly unloaded its meager content. As the cashier rang up his order hastily, his eyes drifted back to the cigarette display, seeking the pack of Winston Blue. Once he saw it, he looked away quickly and threw a few more Skittles into his mouth. After placing the open Skittles pack on the belt, he reached for his back pants' pocket and pulled out his wallet.

Among the many cards inside, was Heero's driver's license, tucked into the ID window. A faded passport-sized photo peeked underneath the license; its edges wrinkled and folded – an indication that the photo has been handled many times. Since it was inserted safely under the driver's license, the person in the photo could not be identified. If one looked closely enough, one would have perhaps been able to make out a hint of blonde locks of hair, but that was it.

As Heero pulled out his credit card from its slot, he noted that the photo was peeking out. He shoved it back under the driver's license, concealing it completely, and snapped the wallet shut.

* * *

><p>It was a short ride home from the convenience store. Home was a plain and featureless apartment situated on the tenth floor of an old tenement building in an East Village neighborhood, just on the border with Manhattan's Lower East Side. It was a bare and tidy habitat, suitable of its owner, overlooking a busy street.<p>

Heero set the grocery bag down on the kitchen counter and unpacked it systematically, sorting everything swiftly into place. He then took off his Preventer jacket, threw it on the small kitchen table and turned to unfasten the concealment holster he used to carry his compact service pistol.

He walked over to the refrigerator and placed the gun, still in its holster, on top. He nudged the sidearm forward until it was completely out of sight. He stood by the fridge for a moment longer, looking up wretchedly, before turning back to the worktop where he had left the empty grocery bag and next to it, the open Skittles pack. He yanked a drawer open; it was full of open Skittles packs in all shapes, sizes and colors of the rainbow. He threw the new pack inside and slammed the drawer shut.

His smartphone beeped, signaling an SMS has just been received. He pulled the device out of his Preventer jacket. His Prussian blue eyes shone solemnly as he read the message:

Eduardo's, 2000 hrs. Formal wear.

Heero threw the cellphone onto the kitchen table, sighing. He turned on his heels, about to leave the kitchen, but then regretted it and turned back to the Skittles drawer. He took a random pack out and shook a few candies into the palm of his hand. He threw them into his mouth and finally walked out of the kitchen, taking the Skittles packet with him.

* * *

><p>As the dashboard clock display changed from 19:59 to 20:00, Heero stepped out of a NYC yellow taxi, dressed in semi-formal wear: black dress pants, a dark gray poplin shirt – no tie – and an elegant black jacket trimmed loosely enough around the waist to hide the weapon he carried underneath. The yellow cab drove off, leaving its passenger in front of a small Italian restaurant. He was a few steps from the front door when his cellphone started ringing. He pulled it out of his coat pocket just enough so he could see the caller ID – <em>'Her'<em> – and shoved it back in, his finger pressing the button that would silence the call without hanging up. He entered the restaurant.

Agent Shaw was waiting for him in the small lobby, dressed for a night out: a classic black dress, fashionable high heels, elegant jewelry and her red hair gathered into a stylish up-do. She greeted him with a small smile as she approached and placed a delicate kiss on his clean shaven cheek.

"Heero," she welcomed him and he nodded in acknowledgment.

"Merida," he returned the greeting and offered her his arm. She wrapped hers around his and they followed the hostess inside as she guided them towards a table for two. The table was situated by a wall-to-wall window facing the busy street, exposing them to the eye of any passerby.

A waiter handed them menus and poured each a glass of red wine. Merida immediately reached for hers, while Heero studied the menu for minutes long, far longer than necessary.

"Just order what you had last time," she offered and sipped more wine. "It looked good."

"I don't like seafood," he retorted, eyes still on the menu.

"Then why did you order it?" she exclaimed.

"Because you recommended it."

Merida heaved a frustrated sigh. "Fine," she snapped; "choose something else, but just order already," she grumbled and emptied her glass of wine; "No one takes this long with the menu, and I'm sure you know it by-heart by now."

Heero lifted his gaze from the menu, glaring at her briefly, before looking back down. After another moment he sighed and snapped the menu shut, placing it on the table. He reached for his glass of red wine and took a small sip, staring ahead with a bland expression.

A waiter came to take their orders and they each ordered a different dish of pasta. More red wine was poured into their glasses. Merida raised her glass for a toast and Heero reciprocated reluctantly.

"Tell me one thing I don't know about you," she requested after two more sips; her glass was nearly empty.

"There's a lot you don't know about me," Heero pointed out solemnly and placed his own glass down; it was still full.

"I know that you don't like seafood," she joked, but her playful expression fell the second she met his reprimanding glare. She sighed and leaned forward, shrugging helplessly.

"Then tell me anything. We have to get a conversation going if we want to keep up appearances," she reasoned, "and I'm sick of always talking about myself. You should share something too. That's what people do on dates."

"I don't date," Heero shared just to spite her.

She rolled her eyes. "I admit you're not exactly dream-date material, but we have to make do."

He sighed, pulling back into his seat. His finger circled the rim of his wine glass, his blue eyes staring at it numbly as he contemplated something to say.

"I've recently given up smoking," he finally decided to share.

Merida smiled, pleased. "Really? How long have you been at it?"

He thought about it for a moment. "Eight weeks," he said and then added quietly: "I could kill for a smoke right now."

She laughed. "That explains why you're so cranky all the time."

He looked up at her, frowning. "This isn't cranky," he muttered; "this is brooding."

She laughed some more. "So you _do_ have a sense of humor!" she called, amused. She leaned over the table and placed two hands at its center. "Lean forward," she whispered, smiling softly.

Still frowning, he asked: "Why?"

"Just do it."

Heero heaved another long sigh but did as she asked, leaning towards her and taking her hands in his, holding them over the table.

"See? You do know why," Merida remarked with a smug smile. "Looks like you've done this before."

"More times than I would have liked," Heero muttered, casting his gaze down uncomfortably.

"I thought you don't date," she taunted.

"I don't."

"So the _'Her'_ on your phone is... what? Your mother?"

He dismissed her guess with an offensive scoff.

"A jealous girlfriend?"

"Hardly."

"Ex-girlfriend then."

"I don't see how that's any of your business."

"Oh, that's a _resounding_ 'yes'!" Merida concluded with a proud smile. "And how does that work exactly?"

Heero pulled back, letting go of her hands. "It doesn't," he mumbled solemnly, looking out at the busy street; "Never did."

The waiter returned with their orders. Merida looked at him curiously for a moment before pulling back as well, clearing the table for their dishes. They ate in silence, each concentrated on the meal. Once she finished her meal, Merida continued to sip more wine, watching her partner quietly. He had barely touched his plate.

"You're not hungry?" she asked with concern.

"Not really."

"I couldn't stop eating when I first quit smoking," she shared good-heartedly. "Doesn't it make you feel like pigging out?"

"No."

"Lucky bastard. No strange cravings whatsoever?"

"Skittles," he said plainly and took a small sip of wine, avoiding her curious eyes.

"Skittles? Really? Candy?" she chuckled.

He nodded, putting his glass down. He traced its rim with his finger again. "Yeah," he sighed; "Can't get enough of them. Especially the sour ones."

She laughed. "Well, just so you know you risk making a woman feel like a fat pig if you don't eat anything on date."

"Noted."

The silence returned. A waiter came to clear their dishes and offered a desert menu. Heero turned to study it far too eagerly. Minutes ticked by slowly, until Merida heaved a sigh for the umpteenth time.

"There's got to be _something_ we can talk about," she mumbled helplessly. "We can't just eat and leave all under thirty minutes. What kind of date is that?"

"One we're eager to end," Heero whispered behind the shelter of the desert menu.

"Then you should look eager to take me home and have your way with me," she retorted tauntingly; "Otherwise, stop hiding behind the menu and get some conversation going."

Heero placed the menu down and turned to look at her, annoyed. "Fine," he grunted and after a short pause added: "You left your makeup case in my bathroom," accusingly.

Merida gaped at him, stunned for a moment before she got her wits back together. "I know," she replied calmly; "It saves me the trouble of carrying it around all the time. You can leave more things in my place if you want, I don't mind. Surely you need more than a T-shirt and toothbrush."

He thought about it for a moment, rubbing his clean-shaven chin absentmindedly. "A razor," he finally said, placing his hand back down, and she smiled.

"Good," she applauded; "Now we're getting somewhere," she muttered and reached her hands over the table again. Heero shifted uncomfortably in his seat and reached to hold her hands again. They looked at each other; his face stoic, her face struggling to sustain a smile.

* * *

><p>It was early morning and dawn was breaking over Manhattan. A garbage truck beeped loudly as it drove down a crowded urban street and loaded trashcans into its filthy tank. A light drizzle descended from a cloudy sky, splashing water onto Heero's closed living room window. Inside, the TV was on, displaying senseless footage with no sound. The apartment was dead silent; only the hum of the refrigerator and the distant motor rumbling disturbed the early morning stillness. In the kitchen, the microwave oven clock displayed 05:10. Heero lay sleeping on his sofa, facing the open television set and curled under a wool blanket.<p>

Somewhere further into the small apartment, a door opened quietly. Merida stepped out of the bedroom, dressed in the same attire she wore to Eduardo's the night before. Her red hair was undone and messy from sleep; black smudges of makeup under her eyes. She held her high heel shoes in her hand as she tip-toed quietly towards the bathroom and closed the door behind her.

In the living room, Heero stirred, moaning sleepily as he rolled over to face away from the quiet disturbance.

The bathroom door opened after a few short moments and Merida padded quietly towards the living room, headed for the door. She unlocked it, paused to put her shoes on and then left quietly, closing the door behind her.

On the sofa, Heero's eyes opened partially. He stared ahead groggily, listening to the silence. He heaved a sleepy sigh before nuzzling his face deeper into his pillow and drifting back to sleep.

* * *

><p>A bright green pack of Skittles – extra sour – lay open besides a black keyboard. Sturdy fingers swept expertly over the keys before stopping and reaching into the open packet. Heero threw three colorful candies into his mouth and resumed typing, his gaze never leaving the computer monitor in front of him. The time and date display at the bottom of the desktop read 14:20, 1217/204.

The young Preventer agent was sitting by his immaculately tidy desk on the eleventh floor of Preventer's NYC offices. His Preventer jacket hung from his chair's backrest, leaving him dressed in the standard-issue khaki dress-shirt and black tie. His desk, like all the others around him, was situated inside a small cubicle, all of which belonged to the local Criminal Investigative Division – Violent Crimes Section.

A small notepad also lay next to the keyboard. Heero was currently typing its written contents into a report on the CID's database. He filled out the necessary forms hastily, relying mostly on memory, though he did glance at the notepad every now and then. Just as he was reading a few lines he had jotted down at the latest crime scene, an object invaded his line of sight as it was pushed sliding towards him on his desk: a Starbucks paper coffee cup.

Heero looked up and was greeted by Shaw's familiar smile. She stood by his chair, looking quite pleased with herself.

"I didn't know whether to bring you lunch or breakfast, so I settled for coffee," she mocked goodheartedly, amused.

"Hn," he acknowledged the joke dismissively, but reached for the coffee cup nonetheless. He took a small sip, his eyes focused on the monitor.

"You left rather early," he commented coolly as he placed the cup down and resumed typing.

"You came in late," Shaw retorted vindictively.

Heero ignored her criticizing tone and kept typing, having nothing to say in his defense. He had arrived at around noon, to which he had no excuse other than the shameful fact that he could not drag himself out of bed (the sofa!) that morning.

"You didn't lock the door," he reprimanded her instead and she snorted dismissively.

"Unless you plan on giving me a key, _sweetie_..." she teased; "wake up and lock behind me next time."

When he gave no response, she heaved a frustrated sigh.

"Trouble waking up again?" she pushed the subject despite his obvious avoidance. "Did you tell Sloan yet?"

This time he stopped typing and turned his head up to glare up at her.

"Did you?" he accused and Merida's freckled face darkened with an infuriated scowl.

"Is that what you think?" she snapped heatedly; "Jesus!"

"You must have mentioned something when he asked about us," he insisted coldly.

"Yeah, well, only that you're a real prick! Jesus, Heero, if you can't trust me then we shouldn't be working together," she hissed angrily, obviously hurt. "Not on this case."

He frowned, thinking her words over, and then lowered his gaze down, subjugated.

"I'm sorry," he apologized quietly; "I was out of line."

Shaw sighed, shaking her head. "You're very cranky when you're tired, you know that?"

"I'm usually not," Heero mumbled and turned slowly back to his computer.

"That's why you should talk to Sloan," she persisted, almost pleadingly.

"I'm fine," he insisted and resumed typing. His words failed to convince her. She stood there for a moment more, studying him worriedly.

"No one is forcing you to do this," she said carefully after a while; "you know that, right?"

"I know."

"Surely we can find another agent who fits the profile. It doesn't have to be you."

"Yes, it does," he argued despairingly; eyes still on the screen, avoiding her prying green gaze. "I'm fine, really."

A long silence fell between them. Merida's eyes followed his fingers as they swept over the keyboard, typing away. When he stopped to grab his coffee, her gaze drifted across the tidy desk and stopped on a small stack of papers on its opposite side. One in particular stood out between the white sheets of paper. It was the edge of a magazine, only the corner sticking out. She recognized it easily by the trademark red frame: it was Time Magazine and judging by the hint of blonde hair belonging to the person on the cover, Merida deduced that it was the latest edition, featuring Senator Darlian on the cover of AC 204's person of the year issue. She turned back to Heero.

"Anyway, you're off the hook tonight," she declared with a sigh. "I got some things to do and we could both use a night off, right? Do us both a favor and get some proper sleep, will you? We need you to be alert."

"I will be," he promised, still typing.

Shaw nodded, clearly doubtful, and turned to leave. She took one step away from the desk when Heero finally turned his chair around to face her. He looked up at her and she studied his pale, almost gaunt, face worriedly as she waited for him so speak.

"Thanks for the coffee," he mumbled quietly, his intense blue eyes fixed directly on her, which made her feel awkward.

"Sure," she replied softly; "anything to keep you awake," she teased with a nervous smile and then finally left for her own station. Heero watched her settle at her desk a few cubicles down and then turned back to his computer. He picked up his notepad and skimmed over it, making sure he hadn't left anything out.

His cellphone, also lying by the keyboard, vibrated quietly, signaling an incoming call. The caller ID read: _'Her'_. Heero ignored it and set the notepad back down. His eyes shifted briefly to stare at the magazine tucked between his paperwork. Once his gaze rested on it, he quickly looked away, snatched the Skittles pack from the desk and threw a few colorful chewy candies into his mouth.

* * *

><p>For the first night in a while, Heero finally lay in his own bed. He was lying on his back, dressed in a plain tank top undershirt and boxers, just staring numbly up at the ceiling. It was snowing outside, the temperature just below zero, yet inside it was so hot that he had left his bedroom window open to let in some cold fresh air to battle the suffocating warmth of the building's central heating. Rising ten floors above street level, his apartment building was the tallest in the block, allowing him a rare and clear view of a dark patch of skies. Even on a clear night one could not see the stars in the Manhattan sky. The city's glow tinted the black heavens with a murky orange halo and only close object could be seen glimmering in the city sky. Most of them were aircrafts, but if he strained his eyes hard enough, he could see the distant twinkle of the L1 cluster colonies. On some nights, L2 would peek behind the dark side of the moon.<p>

There was nothing but a dark cloudy sky that night, so instead Heero studied the stains on the ceiling, listening to the constant clamor of urban nightlife drift in through the window: cars drive by, police sirens, people talking far too noisily on their cellphone as they walked down the street, a boombox playing loudly... the sounds of the city all mashed together into a familiar, comforting, haze. The soothing rhythm was abruptly interrupted by the ringing of his cellphone.

The modern smartphone device was resting on his night table by the bed, wriggling left and right as it vibrated along with the persistent ringtone. The caller ID identified the caller as _'Her'_.

Heero ignored the phone without even turning to look at it. His blue eyes were fixed on a particularly large stain on his ceiling; one that resembled a large winged figure. He stared at it dazedly, allowing his cellphone to ring on and on until the sound blended with the voices coming in through the window, forming into a soft and constant murmur, like waves washing upon the sand. Carried upon those waves, his mind drifted back into another lifetime. His vision blurred, seeing beyond the winged stain and into the past, to the first time he saw himself fight while piloting Wing... To the night when he first saw himself through _Her_ eyes.

OZ attacked the boarding school he was staying at when he had first arrived to Earth. At the time, he had no idea that it was _Her_ they were after. Figuring that they were there for him and his Gundam, he hurried to retaliate. Students and faculty escaped the battle zone, fleeing the campus hysterically. The only one who stayed behind was _Her_. She stood there, in the middle of a burning battlefield, and observed the fight with a pair of calm blue eyes.

She was not intimidated by danger. She was not appalled by the slaughter taking place right before her eyes. The enemy suits were inferior to his and he had crushed them like the insects that they were, right in front of _Her_ watchful eyes. She stood there and watched him crush a whole squadron of mobile suits. Her eyes were looking at Wing— at _him_ – in awe. Not trepidation, horror or condemnation – but wonder. Looking at her through the monitor, he felt shaken by what he saw, by the way she saw him... by the way she forced him to see himself. He didn't know what to do with that distressing feeling. Her eyes looked straight at him as though seeing through tons of Gundanium and steel. She would not avert her eyes, forcing him to face himself.

He hated her for it. He hated her because she was fearless, fierce... undeniable, and that scared him. She should have died for it... but when one of the school towers crumbled and nearly crushed her he didn't think twice and flung Wing's massive arm forward, shielding her from the falling debris. The fear had forced him to save her life. He couldn't believe how scared he was while waiting for the smoke to clear so he could see if he had managed to get to her in time. He could see her stunned features on the monitor. She couldn't believe he had protected her, and neither could he.

It didn't make any sense. It went against everything he'd been taught. She knew too much, she had to be eliminated. Why couldn't he do it? Frustrated, he had whirled Wing around and obliterated the last remaining enemy suit with a brutal, fatal blow. She had watched, never averting her eyes. She stood up firmly, not the slightest bit shaken by her near-death experience, and watched. It was a massacre, but she never wavered, never walked away. _Never._

He had tried to fix his mistake; he tried to kill her by thrusting Wing's mighty arm and hand-shield her way, but stopped himself and diverted the blow in the last second, missing her by a few inches. She didn't even flinch. She didn't. Even. _Flinch!_ She just kept looking at him with those eyes... those valiant blue eyes... eyes that never looked away, never judged, never looked down upon him in disgust. Those clear-blue eyes that could see straight through him... they were why he couldn't kill her; not then and not later when she became a tangible threat to the war effort.

Heero blinked, coming out of his daze, and his hand flung sideways towards the phone. He snatched it off the night table and finally took the call. Inhaling sharply, he pressed the phone to his ear and grunted a hoarse:

"Yeah?"

There was a hesitant pause, and then: "You've been avoiding my calls," a quiet female voice stated in a calm, yet clearly accusing, tone.

"Been busy," he muttered in a croaky whisper as he turned to lie on his side, facing the window. He stared out at the dark cloudy sky and waited for the woman to respond.

"I need to know if you're going to be here this year," she finally said.

Heero gazed dully out the window. He stared unblinkingly at the sky until his vision blurred.

"Heero?" she called his name softly, almost pleadingly. "Please come."

His fist tightened around the phone. He inhaled a quivery breath, struggling to speak in a steady tone, but failing:

"I... I don't know," he mumbled weakly, "there's... there's this case and..." He sighed, closing his eyes sadly. "Now is not a good time. Maybe next month..." he added solemnly and allowed his voice to fade into an awkward silence.

"Heero," she reproached gently, "You're going to miss her birthday."

He swallowed, hard, his eyes still closed.

"I... I can't go to DC right now," he murmured shakily, his voice trembling, on the verge of tears. "It's this case I'm... It's... it's important."

"You don't have to stay for the celebrations," she insisted; her tone clearly imploring him to heed her request. "We'll do something small, just us. You'll be out of here before the whole mess even begins. Before Christmas... before everything..."

"I'm sorry," he almost wailed, curling into himself, tears squeezing out of his clenched eyes. "I... I can't. It's... I'm... I'm sorry."

A suffocating silence stretched for an awkward moment, before the woman sighed.

"I understand," she said quietly; "Maybe next year."

"Maybe," he promised feebly and the silence resumed, long and tense. He sniffled quietly and finally opened his eyes. His gaze sought out the winged stain on the ceiling and once he found it, he stared at it quietly.

"Are you doing okay?" she asked after a while.

"Yeah," he rasped softly, his gaze on the winged stain; "You?"

She paused before saying: "Keeping busy."

He nodded, accepting her words silently, and continued to stare numbly at the stain, the cellphone pressed to his ear. After another lengthy silence, she spoke again:

"Listen, uhm, I might be in New York next month... maybe we could..."

"Yeah..." he hurried to reply; "maybe."

More silence, stretching longer than before. A car drove down the street, tires screeching as the driver hit the brakes, probably slipping on the icy road. The vehicle drove off and the silence resumed.

"Are you sure you're doing okay?" she asked carefully, concern in her voice; "I saw you on TV... are you on full active field duty again?"

"Yeah, yeah, I uh... yeah," he mumbled, closing his eyes again as he struggled with his words. "It's okay," he assured her after a while; "I'm good." He paused for a moment more and then added: "Even gave up smoking... for good this time."

"Really?" she sounded pleased, or surprised, it was hard to tell; "That's good to hear. Congratulations. It'll do you good."

"Yeah, I suppose."

His husky words were followed by an even longer silence.

"Well, listen... I have to go. I... I'll call you if I'm around, okay? I would really like to see you in person. It's been too long... Will you answer my call?"

"Yeah, sure."

"Good... thanks," she whispered in relief; "Well, goodbye, Heero. Take care. I'll see you after the New Year."

"Sure," he approved quietly; "see you then."

He hung up and turned to lie on his back. He lowered the smartphone down, though it remained clutched in his fist, and resumed staring at the ceiling with numb blue eyes. He soughed out the winged stain and gawked at it dazedly for minutes long. Gradually, his eyes watered. He blinked and his tears spilled, sliding slowly down his temples and dripping onto the white sheets. His lips trembled, struggling to hold back burning sobs. One nearly escaped his throat, but then his cellphone suddenly beeped, vibrating in his fist, and his breath hitched with surprise.

He raised the phone back to his face slowly, expecting to see a message from Agent Shaw waiting, but the sender was marked as N/A. Heero frowned and sat up, wiping away the wet traces from his cheeks. He opened the message. His bleary eyes widened in surprise and disbelief.

He was looking at a screen-capture image of some kind of an official document. A familiar face was staring directly at him from a miniature passport photo at top right corner of the screen. It was a young man, dressed in blue Colony police uniform, a dark and grim expression on his heart-shaped face. Heero's shoulders tensed. He recognized the file; he had seen it before. Someone has just sent him a screen-capture of Duo's L2PD's service record. Another message entered the open thread: Channel 6. 20 secs.

He stared dumbly at the words for five seconds more, before shooting out of bed and running towards the living room. He grabbed the remote off the coffee table and turned on the TV, flipping frantically through the channels until he found channel 6. A newscast was playing and a sullen-looking news anchorman was speaking to the viewers:

"And on foreign news, a joint effort between the ESUN's DEA and local L2 police to stop the illegal substance exports to Earth has taken a tragic turn today on L2-V08744, where a joint taskforce's attempt to raid one of the colony's main drug-lairs and suspected drug lab has ended in a fierce fire fight."

The footage switched from the studio to live feed from L2. It was nighttime. The news cameras were pointed at a hectic scene full of police cars and emergency vehicles parked around a burning structure surrounded by a tall wire fence. Cops, firefighters and paramedics rushed in and out of the chaotic scene. It was a mess of blurry faces, lights and images; body bags, gurneys, fire and smoke. Armed men with shell-shocked, blood-streaked faces were ushered away from the prying media.

Heero stood rooted to his spot in front of the television, the remote in one hand and the cellphone in the other, his eyes searching the screen anxiously for a familiar face.

"Over a dozen casualties have been reported so far," the news anchorman continued; "Channel 6 sources report that at least three DEA agents, all ESUN citizens, and five local policemen, are assumed dead. We will have more details about that in a few hours."

Heero's hands began to shake. His heart thudded loudly in his chest as he his eyes scanned the hazy images anxiously.

The cellphone in his hand beeped again. It was another message.

He lowered his head down slowly, staring at the smartphone screen with dazed blue eyes. The last conversation thread was still open. A new text has just entered: Would you like to know their names?

This time, there was a reply number. Judging by the arbitrary digits, it was a disposable cellphone – untraceable.

Heero switched his anxious gaze between the TV and the phone time and time again. More footage of body bags was currently showing. He looked back at the phone and with trembling fingers typed back: yes. Send.

A moment later a reply came in: five names, none of them Duo's. Heero gulped a shaky breath of air. His breathing became irregular, sharp and panicky. His hand shook so hard that he dropped the remote. The horrific sounds of his distressed breathing drowned the words coming from the TV as the newscast continued playing.

Another SMS soon followed: Relieved?

With a loud, shuddering gasp, Heero collapsed against the nearby sofa. He flung his hands forward to stop his decent, leaning heavily against the armrest. He folded his head in, chin against chest, and struggled to breathe. He was still clutching the phone in his fist, his fingers clenching and unclenching around it with each quivery gasp he took. Sweat broke on his face. He closed his eyes, his gaping mouth fighting for air. His limbs shook; arms and legs no longer able to support him. His chest felt as though about to explode. He gasped, a short and painful intake of air, fists flying up to his chest. Finally, he collapsed to the floor, curling into himself as he rolled over, groaning agonizingly. His trembling fingers fumbled clumsily with the phone, searching the contacts list for a person to come to his aid.

* * *

><p><strong>Reminder: <strong>I'm only posting chapters 1-8. Chapters 9-18 are rated MA and hence no longer suitable for this archive. As I've mentioned before, you can find the complete story (all 18 chapters) on the AO3 archive (just follow the link on my profile page. You can also download the eBook).

Elle


	3. Chapter 3: UFD

**Reminder: **I'm only posting chapters 1-8. Chapters 9-18 are rated MA and hence no longer suitable for this archive. As I've mentioned before, you can find the complete story (all 18 chapters) on the AO3 archive (just follow the link on my profile page. You can also download the eBook).

Elle

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 03: UFD<strong>

Lower Manhattan Hospital's emergency room was the single and therefore most hectic ER in the downtown area. Close to 35,000 patients passed through it emergency department annually, brought in by countless ambulance transports rushing in one after the other. Its hallways were constantly bustling with human traffic; a sea of people flooding the waiting rooms and corridors no matter the time of day. The ER's waiting room was the fullest of them all. The sick and injured waited impatiently to be admitted, while nervous family members paced the crowded room as they waited for an update about their loved ones.

Four vending machines provided snacks, sandwiches and beverages to the many occupants of the ER's waiting room. Preventer agent Merida Shaw, currently off duty and henceforth dressed casually, stood before one such machine, staring numbly at its colorful content. Her red hair was a mess, after being gathered hastily into a high ponytail that was barely holding together. Long red bangs framed her pale unmade-up face, curling towards her freckled cheeks. She was dressed sloppily in black sweats and a tattered purple ski coat – evidence of how she had rushed out of her apartment in a hurry. Completely oblivious to the clamor and commotion raging behind her, she stood still for minutes long, gawking dazedly at a green packet of Skittles inside the machine.

Echoes of the phone call that brought her to the ER late at night still resonated in her ears. The panic, distress and desperation whispered breathlessly through her cellphone played repeatedly in her head. She hasn't known her new partner for very long, only a few weeks now, but she never expected this from the desolate, composed and guarded person she had gotten to know thus far. It was shocking... an utter surprise. She hadn't thought that he trusted her enough to call for her aid, and maybe that was why she was unable to get his distraught words out of her head:

_'Merida...'_ he had rasped, panting heavily; _'I— I can't—' _he inhaled a sharp gulp of air; he couldn't breathe. _'_—_can't—! Please!'_

He was in no condition to give a 911 operator any details and no time to wait until they located his call. He had no one else to call, so he called her. She didn't think twice, grabbed her coat, wallet and keys, jumped into her black SUV and raced down FDR Drive from Midtown to East Village in record time. She was at his place in less than ten minutes. The door was locked and he wasn't answering. She kicked the damn thing open and rushed inside. She found him lying on his living room floor in his under garments, struggling for air, his right arm clenched around his left. The TV was on; some newscast was playing, but she didn't pay it much attention. She hurried to get him to the hospital straight away.

"Are ya gonna get somethin' or are ya just gonna stand in my way?" an irate and gruff male voice muttered behind her. Merida blinked, torn out of her daze, and turned to look over her shoulder. An old man was waiting behind her, scowling irately.

"Uh, sorry," she mumbled and turned back to the machine. It was the only one to carry salty snacks and candy. She pulled a few coins out of her coat pocket, inserted them into a slot and punched in the necessary code. The machine hummed as it came to life and a green pack of Skittles was dispensed into the compartment at the bottom. She hurried to take it and move away.

She found an empty seat at the back of the waiting room and settled there. For a moment she stared at the colorful Skittles packet before shoving it into her coat pocket, having no real interest in eating it. She didn't even know why she bought it. As she reached into her pocket, her fingers brushed by another object already tucked in there. She pulled it out; it was Heero's smartphone. She had found it lying on the floor next to him where he had collapsed. For a dull moment, she stared at the sleek device. A cellular phone was an individual's shrine; sacred. Sifting through its contents was a blunt invasion of privacy, and yet before she knew what she was doing her finger had already slid across the screen to unlock the device. A second later she was staring at the default wallpaper and application icons on the main screen.

Feeling the need to hide her wrongdoing, Merida hunched forward and held the smartphone close. It was stupid, really, because as far as anyone around was concerned (if at all) – the device was hers. Only it wasn't. It was Heero's and examining it was wrong, no matter how curious she was about her mysterious new partner.

Then why was she suddenly looking at his call log?

Because she was stupid, that's why. She was stupid, curious and dying for a peek behind the stoic enigmatic mask worn by the man she was forced to work with. So she looked. What harm could it possibly do?

The latest call was an outgoing call – to her. That she already knew. The previous one was an incoming call – from _'Her'_. She clicked on the contact name and a secondary log opened, registering all the calls received from _Her_. The last one was at 21:13 that night and it had lasted close to seven minutes. Next were over ten unanswered incoming calls. The log didn't register any other calls Heero had accepted from _Her_; either there were none, or they were too long ago. There were no outgoing calls either, meaning she was always the one to call him.

Merida could only speculate about the identity of the mysterious lady known merely as _'Her'_. She wondered if Heero's episode had anything to do with finally taking her call. They spoke for quite a while, at least in Heero's terms, so perhaps there was a connection? What could they have possibly spoken about that caused him to collapse?

Curious, she accessed his contact list. All of the numbers were clearly work-related. The only name that stood out as an exception was _'Her'_. She entered the photo gallery next, hoping to find some clues there.

There were only two folders stored under the gallery: one for camera photos and the other for downloaded images. She entered the camera folder first. Not surprisingly, it was filled with images he had taken at various crime scenes. There were no personal photos of any kind.

Next she entered the Downloads folder, where images received via text messages, emails and chat apps were stored. She was surprised to see over two dozen photos inside, dating as far as AC 201. They were all photos of a little girl; an adorable blue-eyed and dishwater-blonde haired toddler, her hair leaning more towards light-brown than blonde. She was somewhere between 18 to 24 months old, depending on when the photo was taken. She was a sweet little thing, an endearing vision in pink, always smiling at the camera with a pair of rosy cheeks and sparkling blue eyes. In one photo she was dressed in cozy winter attire, standing in a green park and holding a red balloon; in another photo she was seated on a toddler's chair in a café, dressed in a colorful summer dress and eating chocolate ice cream, her chubby face smudged with chocolate; another photo was of the little girl standing on the rim of a large stone fountain, throwing breadcrumbs at pigeons. The photos went on and on, capturing images of the little girl in all sort of everyday activities. Judging by the architecture in the background, the photos were taken somewhere in Western Europe.

The last few photos, however, were taken in the US, in Washington DC to be exact. Merida recognized various monuments in the background, like the Capitol Hill Parks or the Lincoln Memorial. The last two photos were taken during Christmas. The girl was posing in front of the famous National Christmas Tree at the White House. The next photo was taken at the Pathway of Peace surrounding the area. The little girl was standing in front of a small Christmas tree and holding a colorful ornament in her hand, grinning merrily at the camera. The next photo was taken in front of the famous green-domed National Museum of Natural History building. The small toddler was standing next to one of the massive Corinthian columns leading to the entrance, dressed in a thick pink winter coat and her long dishwater-blonde hair braided into two adorable pigtails. Heero was kneeling before her, tying her shoes. He was dressed casually, out of uniform, his head bowed down low as his fingers knotted a shoelace. The little girl was looking down at him shyly. It seemed that the photo was taken without him being aware of it. The photo was dated December-24-202; the girl couldn't have been more than three years old.

Merida switched to the next picture. This time, it wasn't of the little girl. It wasn't a photo at all, but some kind of document. It looked like a screen-capture image of some official file that was downloaded into the folder. She zoomed in a bit so she could read the writing. It was a police service record and it belonged to someone named Duo Maxwell, an L2PD cop. He was a young man, she assumed around Heero's age, meaning he was a couple of years younger than her. His long light-brown hair was gathered backwards. His handsome features were round, yet harsh. A soft smile seemed like it would suit his face better, though his expression was far too grim to support that claim. He was scowling at the camera with a pair of angry cobalt eyes, looking quite daunting. He reminded her of Heero.

She frowned, confused by the strange image, and flipped to the next image. There were none; she was back to the first photo of the little girl standing in the park with a balloon. She switched back to the last photo, the one of the L2PD file. It was dated December-17-204; it was received sometime today.

"Agent Shaw?" a deep male voice called her name and Merida looked up. A middle-aged doctor wearing a white lab coat and golden eyeglasses was standing by the vending machines, scanning the crowded room in search of her. She stood up, tucking Heero's cellphone into her coat pocket.

"I'm here," she said as she approached him. They met halfway.

"How is he?" she asked.

The doctor scanned the room once more before turning to face her. "Are you here alone?"

"Yes," she confirmed; "No family, just me. We work together."

The man nodded and sighed tiredly. He took off his glasses and wiped the lenses clean with his white coat.

"Well, his blood work came back OK," he explained wearily; "He suffered an acute anxiety attack, not a cardiac event. The symptoms are similar, but the prognosis is not the same."

She nodded, relieved. "So he's alright?"

"Given his medical history, we'll keep him overnight for observation. We'll run another EKG in the morning just to be safe and if everything turns out okay he'll be out of here by noon."

"Can I see him?"

"We gave him a sedative, so he's deep asleep. You can come by in the morning."

"I'll be quick," she promised and reached into her pocket to pull out Heero's phone. "I just have to leave him this," she explained with an apologetic smile.

The doctor nodded. "Internal Ward, room 312 – third floor. Be quick," he requested and turned to leave. She nodded in thanks and went to search for the room.

It was a single room, affordable thanks to Preventer's excellent health plan. The small room was dark, only a small dim light illuminating the hospital bed in its center, where Heero lay on his back, covered by a blanket. He was sleeping.

Merida entered quietly and closed the door behind her. She hesitated before approaching the bed, feeling awkward. She really didn't know him well enough to be paying a visit to his hospital room while he was unconscious, but he was her partner and she had some level of responsibility towards him whether she wanted it or not.

She stepped closer to the bed, threading carefully as though stepping on holy ground. She pulled his smartphone from her coat pocket, along with the green pack of Skittles, and placed them on the plastic chest of drawers by the bed. For a moment she stood there and studied his blank face, slack and oblivious in slumber. He seemed so much younger compared to when he was awake. His severe temperament and tough exterior made it easy to forget that he was only in his mid-twenties. A young man pushing twenty-five shouldn't be nearly as daunting as he was, yet it wasn't uncommon to meet such young men these days. The war had left many scars, some still visible in the eyes of the young man and women who lived through it. A quick calculation suggested that Heero would have been far too young to have taken part in the fighting; he was only in his teens when the war ended. Looking wretchedly at his lifeless expression, she wondered what else could have caused him so much grief. What horrors hid in his past? What secrets tormented his soul and hardened his heart? What had hurt him so badly that he could not handle a woman's phone call?

Merida sighed and shook her head, trying not to think about it. Whatever it was, she felt sorry for him. And with that grim thought, she turned on her heels and left the room.

* * *

><p>The next morning, Heero lay half naked in his hospital bed, a blanket covering him up to his navel as he stared dully at the ceiling. A nurse was leaning over him, connecting electrodes across the center of his well-toned and scar-ridden chest. She then turned to activate an EKG monitor standing on a portable cart by the bed. The machine came to life with a low beep and immediately started registering a pulse. A needle moved rapidly up and down a roll of graph paper, printing a stable waveform. Once she confirmed that the electric activity was registering correctly on paper, the nurse turned to Heero.<p>

"I'll be back in forty five minutes," she promised; "Try to relax," she added with half a smile and then left the room.

Heaving an exasperated sigh, Heero leaned his head back against the pillow and closed his eyes. He turned to face away from the door and tried to get some sleep. He had just dozed off when the sound of the door clicking shut again registered somewhere along the boundary of a dream. He gasped quietly, startled awake, and turned his head towards the sound. His mouth opened slightly agape with surprise when his gaze fell upon the young woman who had just entered his room.

"Relena?" he whispered her name in a raspy, tired, voice. "What are you doing here?"

"I'm still listed as your emergency contact," the young blonde woman explained quietly as she approached his bed. She was dressed in an elegant black business suit hugging her feminine curves; her long blonde hair was gathered up in a tight and stylish high ponytail and her face was made-up immaculately. She was holding a small bag in her hand, which she placed on the plastic chest of drawers by the bed. There was an open green packet of Skittles resting on the chest, along with a smartphone device.

"The nurse mentioned that you're going to need some clothes," she explained as she dragged a plastic chair forward; "I stopped by your place, got you some things," she elaborated and settled into the chair. She straightened a few wrinkles on her black dress pants, ironing the fabric down by brushing her French-manicured hand over her thigh. "I told the landlord to hurry up and fix your door," she added, looking up again.

"Thanks," Heero whispered blearily and she nodded in acknowledgment. A long and awkward silence fell. Heero turned to study the white ceiling. Relena gazed numbly at his bare torso. There was much scar tissue there; traces of an old gunshot wound on his right upper arm, a jagged scar running across the left side of his chest, sneaking up to his armpit and a long, neat surgical scar splicing his torso from his throat, down to his chest and across his muscular abdomen. Her eyes focused on the scar, gawking at it unblinkingly until they watered.

The EKG needle continued moving slowly up and down the roll of graph paper, printing a black waveform. Up and down... up and down... in a steady rhythm. The long sheet of paper dangled from the machine, piling on the floor in a twisted heap.

Finally, Relena spoke again:

"I'm just gonna go ahead and say it:" she declared with a disheartened sigh; "You're not ready for this."

Heero heaved a sigh of his own. "It's been two years..." he murmured weakly and turned to stare at the opposite wall where a window offered a limited view of the city; "I have to get back out there _some_ time."

"No, you don't," she insisted firmly. "Not like this, not anymore. You've done enough... been through more than enough... why do you keep doing this to yourself?"

"_You _never slowed down..." he accused spitefully, turning his head back around to glare at her viciously; "What's that I read about you planning to run for ESUN presidency?"

Relena cast her gaze down, avoiding his harsh blue eyes. "The media puts words in my mouth all the time," she explained quietly; "I said that I might think about it one day, that's all." She looked back up, her own eyes shining fiercely. "I don't have to make any apologies for my career," she hissed; "Not to you... not anymore. We're talking about you now," she hurried to change the subject; "I thought you were done."

He stared at her blankly for a moment before blinking and then lowering his eyes. "I'm fine," he mumbled dejectedly.

"I can see that," she scoffed; "Heero – you are _not_ fine. You'll never be fine..." she murmured more softly, sighing; "and that's okay. I know you're trying, but why do you insist on choosing the hard way? You have nothing to prove. Stop punishing yourself. Just... just stop it. It's pointless. It doesn't atone for anything... you're only hurting yourself."

The monitor beeped, signaling a spiking increase in Heero's heart rate. The EKG needle moved faster, registering his speedy pulse. He raised his head back up, his eyes searching for hers. He met her unforgiving gaze with a pair of abashed Prussian blue eyes.

"Lena, please," he whispered miserably; "they won't let me out of here if the EKG shows any irregularities. Can't this wait?"

"I'm leaving back for DC in a few hours," she hurried to say; meaning that it couldn't. This was just a courtesy call after all. Heero nodded in understanding and turned away, back to staring numbly at the opposite wall where the window overlooked a busy Lower Manhattan street.

"Why couldn't you have stayed in Cyber?" Relena asked after a momentary pause. "You can make a contribution there too. There are other ways you can make a difference. It doesn't always have to be this dangerous. You should have taken the psych-pension they offered you and got out while you still could. Most people can only _dream _of hitting the jackpot with that pension."

"Retired at twenty-three?" Heero exclaimed offensively; "I don't think so."

"Considering you got started before you were even _ten_ – I don't see how that's so unreasonable," she argued; "You should cut your losses and get out while you still have your whole life ahead of you. Surely there are other career paths you can pursue."

"I am not discussing this with you again," he grunted irately.

"Heero—"

"They need me on this case."

"Why? Why you? What the Hell do you have to do with any of it? You don't have the training to be investigating violent crimes! What's going on? I'm sure that there are plenty of talented Preventer agents out there who are far more qualified for this job! Jesus, after all that happened they're still gonna—"

"Lena," he warned, turning to scowl at her angrily; "That's enough," he warned coldly; "I am not going to discuss this with you."

She leaned back into her chair, shoulder slumping resignedly.

"Is it true what they say? Is it some kind of terrorist activity rather than serial murders?"

Heero didn't answer.

"There's a connection between the victims, isn't there?" she speculated warily; "Something that got Preventer's attention... some kind of threat to national security?"

"I can't say."

She nodded in understanding. Her eyes shifted towards the growing pile of graph paper forming at the foot of the EKG machine. Looking up, she followed the needle as it moved across the roll of paper. She sighed and turned back to look at Heero. He was staring broodingly at the ceiling again.

"You know they will pull you off this case after tonight," she stated quietly; "You're still on probation, aren't you?"

"They wouldn't dare."

"Why not?"

Heero turned to the window and stared at it dazedly for a moment.

"It's too late now..." he mumbled and Relena's face paled with concern.

"Are you in danger?" she whispered dreadfully.

"I'm... I'm fine," he assured her, never turning away from the window. "It... it'll be fine."

"You don't sound too sure."

Heero closed his eyes sadly. Relena watched him mutely for a moment, her blue eyes shining worriedly. She stood up and stepped closer to his bed, taking his limp hand in hers. She caressed his hair gently with her other hand, brushing her fingers through his messy bangs. He turned to her, opening a pair of turbulent blue eyes only she knew how to read. She smiled wistfully.

"Come back with me to DC," she whispered; "Just for a while. Take some time off. Not just for her birthday... Stay until Christmas is over."

For a moment he was quiet, thinking, his eyes shining sorrowfully. "I can't," he rasped and looked away uneasily. He felt her hand tighten around his.

"Then I'll stay here," she declared stubbornly and he shook his head.

"No you won't," he mumbled and she looked away uncomfortably. She studied the view out the window, her eyes scanning the tall building on the other side of the street. A couple was arguing heatedly on a small fire-escape balcony at the side of the building. She sighed and cast her gaze down to the bed.

"You're the one who left," she reminded him.

"I know."

She looked up, studying his pale face in concern.

"Promise me we'll meet next month, like we planned," she implored him and he nodded, fixing his eyes on hers.

"Sure," he whispered.

She squeezing his hand tighter, accepting his comforting lie. She leaned down to kiss his forehead softly and pulled away slowly.

"Be safe," she whispered, still holding his hand. He responded with a slight nod of his head, avoiding her eyes for he was unable to make any promises. She smiled forlornly, recognizing the familiar look on his face; the resigned expression that said that he didn't think he was going to make it and there was nothing she could do about it. She had seen that look before... so many times. There was nothing more she could say... nothing except:

"Goodbye Heero," she whispered, choking on tears, and left the room.

* * *

><p>It was high noon and a cloudy gray sky stretched over New York City. A heavy downpour had left the enormous runways at JFK Airport slick with rain and riddled with puddles. Massive airplanes rolled up and down the runways to and from the large and modern terminals. In an isolated corner of the airport, adjacent to the secluded VIP terminal, stood a small private jet plane, a staircase connected to its open door. Two black SUVs were parked next to the plane and it was surrounded by Secret Service agents armed and ready for anything. Relena was just stepping up to the plane when another black SUV approached, rushing down the runway at an alarming speed.<p>

Her bodyguards already had their guns drawn and were prepared to leap at any attacker, but she knew that it won't be necessary. She watched calmly as the SUV came to an immediate stop next to her private jet. The door opened and the driver stepped out: a young man in black Preventer uniform – Heero. The wind tousled his messy brown hair wildly as he stood there for a second, looking at her with a pair of penetrating blue eyes. He then leaned back into the car, took out a small plastic bag, left the door wide open and started making his way towards the staircase leading up to plane.

She signaled her bodyguards to stand down and stepped off the staircase, threading carefully on her high heels. She met Heero halfway and they stood face to face, looking at each other. Even on high heels she was still a couple of inches shorter than him. He had grown much taller since she had first met him; sometimes she could hardly recognize him as the same person she once fell in love with. Being perhaps the only one who knew him well enough, she was painfully aware of just how much he had changed over the years. There was hurt in his eyes unlike ever before... a kind of darkness not even the war had managed to drill into his heart. She looked up, leveling her gaze with his, trying to keep strong in face anguish only she knew so intimately.

"They discharged you," she observed quietly and he nodded.

"EKG came out fine."

"Obviously it's not your heart they should examine – but your _head_," she snarled a bit more nastily than she should have and he responded with a resentful glare. Relena exhaled a frustrated sigh and an awkward silence fell. She looked down at the colorful plastic bag he was holding; the bag bore an 'FAO Schwartz' logo on it. Heero caught her staring and shifted the colorful bag from one hand to the other uneasily. Finally, he inhaled a sharp breath and opened the bag. It rustled as he reached inside and pulled out a pink bunny doll wrapped in a big red bow.

"Could you... give this to her?" he asked timidly and handed her the gift, unable to look her in the eye. "Tell her... tell her it's from me."

She reached for the bunny and carefully accepted his modest gift. Her eyes shone with tears as she looked up at his face again.

"Why don't you deliver it yourself?" she asked in a trembling voice; "Fly with me to DC," she begged; "I'll have you back here by nightfall."

The darkness in his eyes stirred awake, covering the ocean of blue with a glistening sheet of agonized tears.

"I can't," he said plainly, his voice cracking. He shoved both hands into his jacket pockets and turned his head sideways in a useless effort to conceal his distress. "It's... when it's all at once I... I can't," he mumbled, staring sadly at the NYC skyline in the near horizon. "I'm sorry."

Relena nodded mutely in understanding; tears were sliding down her made-up cheeks, smearing her mascara. She studied his handsome profile and waited patiently for Heero to compose himself.

"Maybe next year," he finally said and turned to face her again, his expression calm once more.

"Sure," she agreed weakly and wiped away her tears; "Next year."

He turned back to his car.

"Heero," she called after him and he stopped, turning back around. She hesitated for a moment before taking a step forward, smiling sadly, and reached for his hand.

"Take care, alright?"

He stared at her stoically, waiting as though he knew she wanted to say something more, and when she didn't he nodded, accepting her request silently. She let go of his hand, her touch lingering for a second more before drawing back completely. He walked back to his car. Relena watched him enter the black SUV and close the door behind him. She looked down at the little pink bunny in her hands. It looked back at her with big black eyes. A forlorn smile tugged at her lips. She inhaled a deep breath, composing herself, and turned on her heels to walk back to her plane.

As Relena's private jet rolled away slowly, Heero's SUV remained parked on the runway. He sat inside, the engine running, and reached to open the glove compartment. A few items fell onto the door as it opened: an open green packet of Skittles, a pack of Winston Blue cigarettes and an orange prescription bottle. He stared at the three items while the plane took off into the air, as seen through the windshield

Heero snatched the prescription bottle and twisted the cap open hastily. He shook a small white pill into his hand and shoved it into his mouth, titling his head back as the swallowed it dry in a quick gulp. He then threw the bottle back into the glove compartment and reached for the pack of Skittles. His fingers barely touched it before his hand moved towards the cigarette pack instead.

Opening it he saw that there were about seven cigarettes left inside the box, as well as a simple blue plastic lighter. He hesitated for only three seconds before pulling out a smoke and lighting it. He snapped the box shut and threw it to the passenger seat.

Taking a long puff on his cigarette, he leaned back against his seat and watched Relena's plane disappear into the cloudy NYC horizon.

It started to rain.

* * *

><p>The large black and white clock above the door in Dr. Sloan's office showed 11:07 AM and the date display at the center read Dec 19 204. Heero sat on the sofa opposite of the door, looking up at the clock and watching the minutes tick by idly. Sloan sat in his usual seat on an armchair facing Heero, tapping his pen impatiently on the notepad resting in his lap as he looked at his patient with a scrutinizing glare.<p>

"We have to talk about it," he declared sternly and Heero finally tore his gaze away from the clock. His blue eyes now rested on Sloan, gleaming coldly.

"There's nothing to talk about."

"Something must have triggered your latest episode," the doctor insisted and Heero heaved an irate sigh, shifting uneasily in his seat.

"It won't happen again," he promised, but Sloan didn't look pleased.

"Is it Christmas?" the man ventured a guess.

"It won't happen again," Heero repeated firmly and the doctor sighed.

"I'm going to increase your dosage," he said as he wrote something down on his yellow notepad; "I'll prescribe some antianxiety meds as well, just to be safe."

"Fine," Heero grunted and turned to glare out the window, studying the view quietly.

"There might be some side effects," Sloan warned and Heero turned to face him again.

"Like what?"

"Nausea, disorientation, drowsiness, lightheadedness, clumsiness... In some cases patients display impaired judgment, even memory loss. If you're already suffering from any of these, it will get worse," he warned.

"If you're trying to intimidate me into talking – don't bother;" Heero muttered, uninterested, and turned to the window again. "Just prescribe whatever's necessary to clear me for duty."

"I am not trying to intimidate you, Heero," Sloan sighed, exasperated; "I'm just saying that you shouldn't be surprised if you experience some of those symptoms."

"Fine," Heero grunted, still gazing out the window stoically.

Dr. Sloan shook his head in frustration and reached for his prescription pad resting on the table at his side.

"You used to talk to Wright," he remarked disapprovingly as he wrote the new prescription down. He ripped the page off the pad and handed it to Heero, meeting his eyes. "Why not talk to me?"

Heero leaned forward to accept the prescription. "I have nothing left to say," he insisted and pulled back, skimming over the note.

"Surely there must be—"

"You can learn what you need from Wright's files," Heero cut him in mid-sentence. "I gave you my consent to access them."

"We're not talking about then, we're talking about _now_," the man argued in frustration; "How can I determine if you're fit for duty if you don't cooperate? You're not giving me much to work on."

"I'm giving you my word that I am fully capable of preforming my duties on this case. It's not like I have to do much," he groused bleakly; "I'm just a part of the scenery."

"Don't underestimate your role," Sloan rebuked; "They put you on this case for a reason."

"Feels more like an elaborate plan to hook me up," Heero muttered disgruntledly, then sighed and shook his head, stopping the doctor before he would try to dwell on it. "Just take my word for it – I'm fine," he hurried to conclude.

"Suffering from an acute panic attack is _not_ fine," the older man admonished harshly; "I'm afraid that your word is not enough," he decided and reached for the _Confirmation of Attendance_ pad. He signed it and stamped it with a red **UFD** stamp: unfit for duty. He handed it to Heero, glaring severely at the young agent.

"Start taking the new prescriptions," he said; "Come back in a week and we'll see about putting you back on active duty."

Heero glowered at him angrily and stood up. He snatched the note from the man's hands and marched briskly out of the office, slamming the door shut behind him.

* * *

><p>A flickering florescent light buzzed annoyingly in a small and otherwise well-lighted stairwell room. Heero sat on the floor between two flights of stairs – one leading up to the Preventer building's 12th floor and the other down to the 10th floor below. He sat leaning against the wall opposite of a heavy fire-door leading in and out of the stairwell. His legs were drawn up, hands resting up supported by his kneecaps, one holding a burning cigarette and the other holding a smartphone.<p>

Brining the cigarette up for a drag, he stared ahead thoughtfully, blue eyes numb. After a few more puffs on his cigarette, Heero turned his phone around so he could look at the display. There was a number on the open screen, ready to be dialed: 0002-08744-09-555-861

He gawked at it drearily, inhaled another puff and released the smoke slowly into the air.

He dialed. The call took a while to connect as the signal traveled far away from Earth's orbiting satellites, being routed all the way over the moon and beyond. Finally, there was a tone, and then:

"L2PD station," a female voice answered; "how may I direct your call?"

Heero took the cigarette out of his mouth. He cleared his throat, hesitating momentarily before croaking out: "Detective Maxwell please."

"One moment," the operator replied smoothly and put him on hold. Unpleasant music played in his ears. Heero placed the burning cigarette between his lips again and toyed with it nervously, waving it up and down while he waited with bated breath for the call to transfer. When he heard the on-hold music stop, his breath hitched slightly. He pulled the cigarette out of his mouth again and readied himself, preparing to speak even though he felt that he couldn't form a sound over the lump in his throat.

"I'm sorry," the same female voice from a moment earlier apologized and Heero relaxed, slumping back against the wall. He placed the cigarette back in his mouth.

"He's not in today," the operator explained; "May I ask who's calling please? I could leave a message. Perhaps someone else could take your call?"

Heero took a long drag on his cigarette. His silence stretched for a bit longer than acceptable as he contemplated her offer.

"Sir? Hello?"

He hung up.

Exhaling a nervous breath, he ran a hand through his hair, pushing it back, and leaned his head back against the wall. He kept holding his cellphone in one hand and raised the other to take another drag. He blew smoke into the air, following it with his eyes as it dissipated slowly.

The heavy stairwell door creaked loudly as it was opened from the outside. Heero didn't bother looking at it and continued gazing up at the ceiling, head tilted back, smoking.

Agent Shaw peeked into the stairwell room. She spotted him sitting on the floor in front of the door, a burning smoke in his hand. Smiling cannily, she stepped inside, allowing the emergency-exit door to close behind her.

"I used to come here too when I needed to sneak in a few drags," she said in amusement and sat down on the stairs next to him, leaning an elbow over her thigh and resting her head on it, looking at him curiously.

"The Skittles aren't doing it for you anymore?"

"Not today," he mumbled tediously and took another puff.

Merida nodded; her expression serious once more.

"Yeah, I heard," she sighed; "Sloan pulled you off active duty?"

Heero didn't grace her with a response and continued smoking quietly, staring up at the ceiling. Shaw studied him with concern.

"Then why won't you go home?" she asked; "Looks like you could use some R n' R."

"Can't," he said and finally tilted his head forward so he was facing the door.

"Why not?" Merida asked with a frown.

"Baker is working on putting me back in," he replied quietly and glanced down at his phone.

"Seriously?" Shaw marveled; "He can overrule _Sloan_?"

"He's trying," Heero murmured, distracted while staring at his phone; "Told me to wait." He placed the cellphone in his jacket's pocket and pulled out a pack of cigarettes; Winston Blue.

"With all due respect to A-SAC Baker, he can't go around Sloan," Merida pointed out; "That's the whole point behind having a shrink examine us, isn't it? His word beats Baker's."

"Not in this case."

"Why the Hell not?"

Heero took another smoke out of the pack, as well as a blue plastic lighter. He placed the fresh cigarette between pressed lips and lit it up. He returned the lighter to the box and shoved it into his pocket. Merida watched patiently as he took a long drag on his new cigarette and then finally pulled it away from his mouth.

"Because it worked," he stated calmly, releasing smoke slowly into the air. "He's taken the bait."

She gaped at him, shocked.

"Oh my God... for real?"

Heero nodded, taking another puff.

"So soon?"

"Yeah."

"I guess you should be flattered;" she tried to joke, though the humor was drowned by the worry in her voice. Heero didn't seem to take her attempt to joke too kindly. His usually stoic features hardened into an aggrieved, hurtful, expression.

"Sorry," she mumbled and bowed her head down to avoid his harsh blue eyes; "that was tactless."

A tense silence fell. She stared dully at the floor while Heero continued to smoke quietly, his brooding gaze fixed on the stairwell door, until he was nearly halfway through his second smoke.

"Do you know why they pulled me off Cyber to work on this case?" he suddenly asked, still staring numbly at the door.

Merida looked up again. "I assumed it's because you fit the profile."

"His victimology is extremely diverse," he remarked dryly. "Surely you saw through that."

"Yeah but... I mean... The BAU [[1]] chose you for a reason, right? Even though they probably could have come up with a dozen other agents who fit the profile far better..." she picked up on his train of thought. He nodded to signal that she was on the right track and then raised his cigarette back up for another puff.

Merida frowned warily. "You're right," she concluded; "The other victims were all involved with someone... some had families," she muttered pensively; "Loved ones are crucial in this profile. I know that this is where I come in, but now that you mention it... why go through all that trouble?"

"It's a smoke screen," he mumbled with a weary sigh, avoiding eye contact as he tilted his head back against the wall again. Merida seemed confused by his vague answer.

"To hide what?"

Heero didn't answer. He continued smoking, gazing up at the ceiling. Merida watched him quietly for a moment, frustrated.

"There's a lot they're not telling me about this case, is there?" she complained; "I feel like my job is to sit tight and look pretty and I don't like it. This isn't what I signed in for."

"Join the club," Heero grunted and took one last drag on his nearly finished smoke, finally tipping his head forward again.

She heaved an exasperated sigh. "So now what? Baker puts you back on and we keep dating until... what?" she asked and Heero shrugged indifferently.

"We'll see," he said, still looking at the door. She nodded gravely and the silence resumed for a while longer.

"Are you nervous?" she dared a bold question.

Heero turned aside and stubbed out his cigarette on the floor, his eyes focused on the small butt as he crushed it against the white tiles. "No," he whispered, twisting the burnt butt left and right; "...not usually."

Shaw nodded in sympathy. "It'll be fine," she made an empty promise, struggling to offer a reassuring smile. "We took every precaution."

"Yeah..." he breathed desolately and threw the crushed cigarette butt to the far corner of the stairwell room. His Prussian blue eyes followed its decent as it flew across the room, hit the opposite wall and bumped into it forcefully, bouncing once and then falling to the floor like a lifeless corpse.

* * *

><p>[1] The Behavioral Analysis Unit (BAU) is an FBI department that uses behavioral sciences to assist in criminal investigations of complex and time-sensitive crimes.<p>

* * *

><p><strong>Reminder: <strong>I'm only posting chapters 1-8. Chapters 9-18 are rated MA and hence no longer suitable for this archive. As I've mentioned before, you can find the complete story (all 18 chapters) on the AO3 archive (just follow the link on my profile page. You can also download the eBook).

Elle


	4. Chapter 4: SCI

**Reminder: **I'm only posting chapters 1-8. Chapters 9-18 are rated MA and hence no longer suitable for this archive. As I've mentioned before, you can find the complete story (all 18 chapters) on the AO3 archive (just follow the link on my profile page. You can also download the eBook).

Elle

**Warning: This part is rated M.**

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 04: SCI<strong>

Dust particles hovered lazily in the air, catching the bright high-noon light pouring in through a window at the far end of a long hallway. The ugly olive-green carpet covering the corridor floor was old, ragged and filthy. The two rows of closed apartment doors at its sides were just as shabby-looking: the hideous brown paint scrapped off and cracks forming all over.

A door located at the center of the hallway creaked loudly at it was opened from the inside. A businessman stepped out. He arranged his loose tie, looked guiltily left and right and they hurried for the elevator. The hallway fell silent again, remaining empty for a few more minutes before the same door opened again. A young Latin woman stepped out – Tomás's mother. She was dressed in a pair of worn-out shorts and a sloppy T-shirt. Her long wavy hair was undone, wet after a shower and cascading down her skinny backside. Her bare tanned legs padded quietly on the dusty green carpet as she closed the door behind her and walked further down the hall. She stopped in front of another door and knocked once. When there was no answer she simply let herself in.

The first thing she saw when she entered the small apartment was that the TV was on. All the blinds were closed and it was dark; the colorful flickering of a cartoon playing was the only source of light inside. Tomás sat on the sofa with a bowl of milk and cereal, his eyes glued to the television screen. She turned her head in the direction of the kitchen. It was empty. Finally, she stepped inside and closed the door behind her.

Tomás looked up, staring at her quietly for only a moment, before turning back to the TV. He took a spoonful of cereal and served it to his mouth, eyes never leaving the screen. She stood there a moment, an anguished expression on her face as she studied her son with wretched eyes. The boy ignored her. Eventually, she turned away and headed for the small corridor leading further into the small apartment. She peeked into the bedroom. It was dark and empty. She turned to the bathroom instead. The door was closed. She opened it without knocking.

The bathroom was dark so she switched on the light. A fluorescent lamp flickered to life and shed white harsh light over the bright ceramic tiling. A person was lying on the floor between the bathtub and vanity, dressed in shabby black sweats, no shoes. His long chestnut-brown hair was sprawled behind him in a chaotic cascade of unruly strands; his untrimmed bangs were plastered over his face, wet with sweat and soaked with tears, concealing his features completely. There was a terrible stench in the small washroom; he had obviously soiled himself with urine and vomit.

"Jesus, Duo..." the young woman whispered in horror, covering her mouth with her hand. She hurried to kneel by his side and reached a hand forward to brush his wet bangs aside, unveiling his face. She was surprised to see that his red-rimmed eyes were wide open, staring ahead dully. His lips were chapped and peeling, there was redness under his nose and traces of dry vomit under his chin. One quick look into his glazed-over eyes and she could easily determine that his pupils were dilated; he was tweaked.

"Christ, what are you on?" she hissed angrily and rolled him over so he was lying on his back, facing up. His long hair tangled all around him, large chunks of it twisting into his clothes.

He laughed; a rough gurgle that sounded more like a sob than a giggle. "The good stuff..." he rasped in a gruff voice, smiling goofily; "Fuck, Roz...yanno... this shit really takes you places..."

Rozita sighed and stood back up, reaching into the bathtub and opening the faucet until hot water started coming out. She turned back to Duo and pulled him up by his limp arms, coaxing him to sit. He showed no resistance, just stared ahead numbly, as she took off his filthy black sweatshirt, pulling it over his head. She then placed two hands under his armpits and nudged him up; he got the hint and tried to stand on two shaky legs. She took off his soiled pants and shorts, keeping her eyes up, and guided him into the tub. He sat in its center and curled into himself, legs drawn up to his chest, arms wrapped around them and long hair falling against his back like a cape. He was staring dazedly ahead the whole time.

She reached for the portable showerhead, adjusted the water and began washing him. Duo closed his eyes and bowed his head down so that his forehead was resting on his drawn up knees. His long wet hair veiled his face like a curtain.

"We useta do it... in the shower... all the time..." he mumbled in a distant, pensive voice; "It was safe here... where no one... no one would know... He didn't... didn't want anyone to know... always sneaking around... no one was allowed to know..."

"Know what?" Rozita asked softly as she lathered his hair with a generous amount of shampoo.

"...that he loved fucking me..." Duo answered dreamily. "Wouldn't lay a finger on her... he only got dirty with me..." he added with a miserable chuckle, which soon turned into a sob; "She was... she was something ideal... sacred... important... pure... Nuthin' like me. I was just there so he could vent... so he could vent all the ugliness out and then go to her feeling clean... always bouncing between the two of us... I couldn't see it back then... I was such a stupid kid... God, but I... I took whatever he was willing to give... Kept telling myself that I was getting the _real_ him... the part he never wanted her to see... he gave me the ugly and I loved him for it... I loved it that it was just for me..."

Rozita listened quietly while shampooing his tangled long hair, a shine of sympathy in her dark brown eyes. When she raised his hair up to lather its long edges, she exposed the old welts on his back and her eyes watered.

"I was a fucking whore... sorry. I was a stupid goofball taking everything with a smile, every bit of his ugliness... just for him... just to be with him... I useta... useta hide lube in my shampoo bottle..." he recalled with wistful chuckle; "...couldn't wash my hair, but man... at least my ass didn't hurt so bad... He was so... rough... aggressive... Fuck, it's been so long since I fucked!" he wept pitiably; "I'm so fucking alone!"

Rozita picked up the showerhead again and rinsed the shampoo from his hair while he cried brokenly into his knees. She finished washing him silently and then wrapped a clean towel around his naked body. He stepped out of the bathtub mutely, his gaze cast down to the floor as he held the towel closed around himself. She guided him to his bedroom and lifted the covers up. He lay down, curling into a fetal position, dressed only in his towel. Rozita covered him tightly while he stared ahead with numb, empty, cobalt eyes.

She turned to his small night table. There was residue of pale-pink powder all over it, along with a small plastic bag and a soiled credit card, also covered with the pink powder. The bag was nearly empty, only a few ounces of pinkish crystal left inside. She hurried to clean away the mess, wiping the leftovers off the table with her hands, and snatched the plastic bag away. She turned to leave the room.

"He... he chose her in the end..." Duo suddenly murmured. He wasn't looking at her, but straight through her. "Shoulda chosen me, but... he... he chose her..." his eyes watered with tears of self-pity and he turned his head, burying it in his pillow; "It was never me," he wept wretchedly, "No one ever picks me... No one ever stays with me!"

Rozita watched him silently for a moment, pain and compassion in her eyes, and finally left the room quietly and closed the door behind her, leaving him to his grief.

* * *

><p>A lot was left out and twisted when someone recalled the past in a dream. Nothing was ever accurate, though every emotion was just as intense as it had been before, perhaps even a couple times over. That was why Duo hated dreaming, and he dreaded dreams of the past even more. Right now he was dreaming of Christmas AC 196 – the night they won back the ESUN Capital and the last time he had seen Heero Yuy. Fuck. He didn't want to be here again... yet there he was: his sixteen-year-old self was stomping hastily down a crowded hospital corridor, still dressed in his flight suit, torn and tattered from the fight. His face was streaked with dry blood and grime, his hair disheveled and his braid coming undone. His fists were clenched angrily, his cobalt eyes burning with rage, as he marched into a crowded ICU and walked straight past Relena Darlian on the way to his destination. He yanked a hospital curtain aside in a violent <em>'whoosh!'<em> and revealed the bed on which Heero was laid injured and bandaged, but awake. The young pilot's head was wrapped in a thick bandage; his hair had been shaved off. There was an oxygen tube under his nose and a dull, tired expression on his gaunt face. His right cheek was badly bruised where he had punched him before they parted ways. He looked up sluggishly, Prussian blue eyes shifting idly in Duo's direction the second he stepped through the curtain. He stared at Duo mutely, an unreadable shine in his blue eyes.

"You God damned son-of-a-bitch! You left me behind!" Duo hissed accusingly, glaring down mercilessly at the person he used to consider his lover. "You left in me that Hellhole and you ran off to _her_!"

Heero's chapped lips parted; he was about to say something. Duo shook his head and raised a hand up to shut him up.

"Don't bother," he spat angrily; "You wanna say that you were doing what had to be done, right? Well _don't_. I don't want to hear it again. I get it. It's _her_. You don't haffta make excuses anymore. It's always _her_... you always run back to her, battle or no battle... it's always _her_."

He leaned over Heero, supporting himself on the bed, and looked him straight in the eye, glowering furiously at Heero's apathetic eyes.

"You know, they say that that Catalonia nut-job chic gave this big speech... during the fight. Said that we're _real men_... but you know what Heero? You're no man. You're a _boy_. A _stupid _little _boy_ who won't admit that he likes fucking other boys! So screw you. I don't need this shit. I just finished wasting two years of my life taking your shit lying down. If it's her you want – fine. Knock yourself out. I'm done."

He turned to leave, but he couldn't. He wanted Heero to stop him. He wanted Heero to _say_ something, anything... even the smallest thing would make him stay.

But Heero was silent... not a word.

Duo whirled back around, his cobalt eyes hurt and tearful.

"That's not fair!" he cried – his anger overridden by pain. "You think you're doing the right thing choosing her? Why! Because her genitals happen to be in the inside instead of on the outside?! Because picking her fits nicely into this sweet little fairytale you like telling yourself before you go to bed? Screw that! That don't make nuthin' right! She'll never get you the way I do! She'll never accept the shit I can accept!"

He rushed back to the bed, throwing himself down to his knees before Heero. The injured pilot just stared at him with empty eyes.

"You should choose me – Heero!" He called, panicked. "Pick _me_! Choose _me,_" he begged, shouting angrily and weeping miserably at the same time, openly distraught. "Shit... just this once... just this God damn once – tell me that we had something... Tell me, Heero... please. Tell me that it meant something... something more than fucking. Tell me you want this... I'll understand if you're afraid to make something more out of it, it's okay, but just... Jesus... just tell me. Tell me so I'll know... so I won't feel so God damn stupid... please."

That never really happened. He never really begged, never cried like that. There was only anger that day; anger and silence, both brutal and intense. Heero never spoke a word and Duo never cried; he only allowed himself to do so in his dream, yet even here Heero wouldn't say a word. Instead, he lowered his gaze down shamefully.

There was nothing left to say, so Duo heaved a miserable sigh and stood up, bowing his head down sorrowfully.

"Fine," he mumbled and turned back around to leave. "I get it."

And he left, closing the curtain behind him.

Relena was still waiting outside the ICU when he stepped out. God he hated her so much! Not because of anything she had done – it wasn't her fault – but because she was the only thing he could never be: the object of Heero's affections. He hated her because Heero loved her. Petty, but true. The ugly truth always laid unashamedly bare in a dream.

He glared at _her_ resentfully, looked her in the eye and said: "He's all yours." He then walked away, muttering a cynical: "Good luck with that..." and that was the last he had seen of Heero and _her_.

Duo woke up from his dream, his face soaked with tears.

* * *

><p>"There are times, when we are faced with unthinkable loss, that those who grieve want answers to questions they cannot understand," Father Dixon spoke in a grim and steady tone, addressing a full house. The small church was packed with an audience seeking guidance and comfort. The old priest stood behind a podium on the altar, trying to appeal to a congregation that came seeking answers after the terrible massacre at The Pit. Many had lost loved ones in the tragedy that had crippled and claimed the lives of a dozen cops, as well as over thirty addicts – lost sons and daughters who had made the notorious drug lair their home. It was less than a week before Christmas, and L2-V08744 was grieving.<p>

"In the midst of tragedy, people ask questions, and today we find ourselves asking the same questions that burdened our hearts during times of hardship, war and loss: Why did this have to happen? Where was God? Why didn't He stop it? Why me? Why the people I love?

"Those are hard questions and answering them will not remove our sadness, nor will it bring those who have died back to life. But the _real_ question shouldn't be why us, but rather why _not_ us? The truth is we are anything but a faithful Christian community. Our behavior makes a mockery of Christianity! We lead the world in every abomination known to man: abortion, alcoholism, drug addiction, gambling, child abuse, violent crime, prostitution, pornography, pedophilia, rape... The very name of L2-08744 is a synonym for all those evils put together! This is a modern Sodom and Gomorrah! Worse yet, we now export our immorality to other regions through our inability to stop the distribution of lethal drugs from this colony! We are going out of our way to ignore every expression of profanity and obscenity! We have abandoned God in every way!

"As a result of this terrible slaughter on our street, our colony is praying like it has not prayed for years. It is pleading with God for comfort, protection, and guidance. God is hearing from people He hasn't heard from in years. And because of our reaction to this new horror that befell upon us we might – we just _might_ – stand a chance against evil."

A few weeping heads nodded in the audience.

"How can we become better rather than bitter as result of the lessons from what happened at The Pit?" Father Dixon continued his sermon; "Let us overcome any tendencies to give into discouragement, frustration or hurt. Let us utilize the power of God's promise: 'Do not be overcome by evil but overcome evil with good'..."

The dark parking lot outside the church was full. The streets were empty; the whole neighborhood was there. Not a soul roamed the slums expect for one: a young man who chose to remain standing outside the small church, smoking as he paced around in circles in front of the entrance. He was dressed in baggy clothes and a dark hooded sweatshirt with the hood drawn up over his head, concealing his face. The church doors were wide open, a column of light tumbling onto the dark asphalt and the sound of Father Dixon's voice vibrating through the still night air.

The sermon ended and people started leaving the church. Gradually, the parking lot emptied and silence engulfed the small structure. Only then did the young man throw his cigarette onto the ground, where it joined its predecessors, and entered the church.

The house of worship was vacant, quiet and dim. The young hooded man stood still for a moment, making sure he was alone, before he made his way to the confessional. He closed the curtain behind him, sat down, and finally took the hood off.

Taking a deep breath, Duo looked timidly up at the crucifix hanging over the grille, crossed his heart and whispered: "In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit, my last confession was uh... seventeen years ago."

Father Dixon sat behind the lattice. He nodded gravely. "Yes, and as I recall Sister Helen had to drag you kicking and screaming into the booth, so what brings you here now, son?"

Duo heaved a long, miserable, sigh. He bowed his head down sorrowfully, unable to speak.

"Would it be the same reason the rest of the flock came here tonight?" the priest determined solemnly. "You're here because of Jesse."

Inhaling a trembling breath, trying to keep tears at bay, Duo closed his eyes sadly, fighting back the wetness gathering behind his closed eyelids.

"I... I couldn't even bring myself to step outta the car, at the funeral..." he mumbled in a shaky voice; "Couldn't face Clara again... God... I can't look her in the eye after failing her so many times..."

"It wasn't your fault, Duo," Dixon reminded him softly; "she knows that."

Duo shook his head, his eyes still closed. "I promised Joe... I promised I'd look after Jesse... keep him outta trouble..."

"There was nothing you could've done for that boy, or for Joe, for that matter."

"There's always something..." Duo murmured regretfully and hunched forward over his knees, entwining his fingers and leaning his head against them as though in prayer.

"I coulda at least been there... for both. I left Joe in that alley after he was shot and I left Jesse in The Pit... They died alone, Father. They died knowing I shoulda come back for them, but I didn't. There was never time..."

The old priest sighed quietly. "I would quote scripture if I knew it would offer you any comfort, but that's not why you're here, is it?"

Duo shook his head 'no', still leaning into his folded hands. He inhaled a long, shaky breath and straightened up slowly. Tears streaked his cheeks.

"I... I had a slipup, Father," he confessed shamefully, unable to look anywhere but at his feet. "I... God, I... I... I never handed in that sample you gave me..."

There was a short pause before Father Dixon sighed and whispered sadly: "Oh, Duo..."

Duo raised two hands up to cover his face, hiding in disgrace. "I know..." he cried; "I know... God... I know... I'm so sorry..."

"I hope you didn't come here hoping I'd hook you up with some more," Dixon added harshly.

Duo hurried to shake his head; face still hidden. "No... no... God, no... I... I just... I..." he sighed, lowering his hands down and placing them on his lap. He stared at them dully. "I didn't know where else to go."

Father Dixon cleared his throat. "I know that you don't approve of the way I run things, but you should come to group tomorrow. It helps."

"No... no I... I can't. If anyone finds out I've been using again... Jesus... no. I can't risk it. I'm still on probation... the Chief will kick me out in a heartbeat."

"Maybe it'll be for the best," the old man suggested carefully; "Maybe you should take a break from all the ugliness on the streets. What about that girl you told me about, the one on V08755? The one with the salvage yard."

"Hilde?" Duo chuckled bitterly and shook his head. "I don't think so. I mean, she's always been nagging me to leave 744, but... but this is home, yanno? I don't fit nowhere else." He sighed, still looking down at his hands as he twiddled his fingers. "...'sides, she's like a million months pregnant or sumethin'... I can't dump my shit on them right now."

The priest nodded in understanding. Duo continued fiddling with his fingers. He could feel the old man's gaze on him. Dixon allowed him a few more moments of silent contemplation before speaking again:

"To be honest, after all that happened, I was surprised to see you back on 744," the priest admitted. "And even though you weren't so happy to see me again, I was relieved that you made it back here in one piece. We have our fair share of differences, and I know that you still resent me for leaving the church after... you know... but I am grateful that you still seek my guidance. In a way, this is my chance to make amends. It's the least I can do for Father Maxwell. That's why I'll allow myself be just as blunt as he was as I tell you this: your life is going nowhere, Duo. Keep this up, and you're bound to repeat every God damned mistake you've already made. You need to change course, leave this place, start anew, no matter how daunting that might be. L2 will only hold you back. This is a place of sin, not retribution."

Duo took a deep breath and clenched his fists tightly. "I came back here because I figured... I dunno. That all my other sins will be justified if I come back here? I thought maybe I... I dunno... that maybe it'll make up for sumthin'..." he mumbled bleakly; "make it like everything in between then and now never happened..." He turned to the grid, finally seeking Dixon's face.

"L2's all I got, Father. I ain't got nuhtin' else. Nothing. All I got that means anything is this stupid _rope_ I carry around for hair and this pendant you gave me from back then. The cross only means sumthin' 'cuz it was his and... God... you don't know how many times I thought 'bout chopping this damn thing off." He flipped his braid out of the hoodie and brought it forward, fiddling with the long strands at its messy edge.

"But I'm too chicken to even trim it," he sighed; "It's like... like... like I'm not allowed to let go... I can't forget, not ever. None of it. Not the church, not the war, not even..." he paused, shaking his head. "I'm just... _stuck_. Eight fucking years and I'm still fixed on this one thing, this one... one... one person. I don't get it, Father. People they... they move on. They move on to the next lover, find a spouse, get married, divorce... married again... and I... I'm still hung up on him! I'm still thinking 'bout a guy who wouldn't even gimme the time of day when we _were_ together! How pathetic is that?!" He finished with a desperate cry and buried face in hands again. "I'm such a loser, I swear. God..."

Father Dixon was silent; it was a tense, heavy kind of silence. Duo peeked at the lattice between his fingers.

"You ain't gonna preach me 'bout burning in Hell for liking guys, are you?" he asked fearfully and the old man scoffed.

"After all this time, I wish you'd give me a little more credit," he said, smiling sadly. "I respected Father Maxwell for many reasons, but I am not like him."

"No shit," Duo mumbled, uncovering his face. He leaned back into his chair, slouching tiredly, and heaved another long sigh. "God... you don't know how good it feels to finally say it..."

"Confession is good for the soul," the old priest teased and Duo rolled his eyes, his face actually cracking a smile.

"Yeah, well, I ain't plannin' on makin' a habit outta this."

Dixon nodded. "Tell me about this guy," he asked instead; "What was so special about him that you can't let go after all this time?"

Duo stared ahead numbly, thinking. He shrugged. "I dunno... nothing really," he said, bowing his head down. He was fiddling with his fingers again. "But... it was... everything. It was like... he was like... I dunno. Fire. And Ice. Cold one moment and burning hot the next... It was... intense. I was hooked. He... he was someone else when he was with me. I... I saw things... things he didn't bother hiding around me. Ugly things. Horrible things... brutal. Things he could never change... I saw him... and I loved it... I loved him. I... I was _addicted_ to every last bit of it... to the ugliest sides of him."

He chuckled bitterly; "Guess I was always some kinda junkie... huh? But that ugly... it was beautiful. There was something beautiful underneath. Something I was dying to reach. All those things that made him plain, the things that made him like everyone else... they were beautiful. I loved the parts of him no one else could see, the things he was ashamed of, and Heero... he... he hated that I saw him. He hated being seen... always hiding... always... always shutting me out. I was a stubborn asshole, so he left. Left me for someone who couldn't see him at all. Some _prissy_ broad with a mission to make a proper human being outta him... what a load of _bull_. He probably thought that she could save him, erase all the ugly... bury it someplace no one would ever see, but that ugly _was_ him. It was what I loved. It was what made us perfect for each other... why erase it?

"God, Father... what do I do? I've been thinkin' 'bout him a lot lately. I tried not to for so many years, but... but... it's useless. It always comes back to him. He... he's... feels like he's haunting me... no matter where I go."

"You were left wondering what you might have missed," the old made speculated; "That's why you can't let go."

"Yeah... I guess. Maybe," Duo mumbled, staring numbly at his fingers.

"We are always fascinated by the mysterious and unique," Dixon explained; "There's a natural attraction to things wild and grisly, yet beautiful and pure at the same time. They make us feel that we are in the presence of something almost supernatural, something that pulsates with energy and life far more real than our own. It's as overwhelming as the very concept of God. A person who is at once awful, august, majestic, overpowering and uncanny – a manifestation of our darkest desires... how can anyone be expected to resist a person who fulfills our deepest spiritual longing? We can't help but feel both terrified of and attracted to this person. Some people find this awe and fulfillment in God. The lucky ones find it in someone they love."

Duo looked up, his cobalt eyes shining with tears. "So you're saying it's not my fault?" he asked bashfully; "That it's outta my hands?"

"I'm saying that you don't have to fear that your feelings for this man are abnormal."

"I thought you said that that the only true love out there is God..."

Father Dixon snarled nastily. "I also say 'don't do drugs' while I keep using, so..."

Duo scoffed, rolling his eyes. "Point taken," he muttered with a cynical smirk. "I think that's why I keep coming down here."

The priest smiled kindly. "Feeling a bit better?"

"I guess," Duo shrugged and then exhaled tiredly. "Yeah... a little."

"Are you good for tonight? Can I trust you to keep clean?"

"Yeah, sure... I ran outta the shit anyway."

"Good. Now go home, Duo. Get some sleep. I'm here whenever you need to talk."

"Thank you, Father," Duo said and stood up. He opened the curtain, about to leave confessional, but then stopped and added:

"I get it why Father Maxwell wanted you out," he whispered; "but I knew that you never touched any of the children. All things considered you turned out alright... At least your heart is in the right place."

The old priest smiled thankfully. "As is yours," he said; "He would have been proud of you, Duo. I know he would've forgiven you for all of your sins, whether you came back here or not."

"Yeah, well..." the young man mumbled and began to walk away; "Either that or he woulda seen us both in Hell..."

* * *

><p>The only item still remaining on Duo's naked body while he showered was the plain silver cross and necklace around his neck. The small crucifix dangled from its chain, swinging lazily left and right as Duo leaned bent forward, supported by two forearms folded against the cool porcelain wall, and let the water beat down against his hunched back. His hair was undone; a wet dark-brown blanket plastered over his backside, thus concealing the long whip-lash scars across his back.<p>

His eyes were closed, his expression despaired. Hot water cascaded down his muscular body, flooding him with memories.

He had always looked forward to hitting the showers after a battle was over, even more so when Heero was around. And for a few precious days towards the end of the Eve War – way back in AC 195 – he had Heero all to himself on the spaceship Peacemillion.

The battles were frequent. The White Fang, a military terrorist organization dedicated to the liberation of the Colonies from the oppression of the United Earth Sphere Alliance, Romefeller and OZ, had also turned against _them _– the first to stand up for the Colonies' freedom. Their ship was constantly being attacked by Mobile Dolls and all five Gundam pilots were reaching the end of their rope. Stealing a few quiet minutes for a quick shower had been a rare and priceless luxury. He had passed on some much needed sleep in order to sneak into the showers late at night while the Dolls regrouped before the next fight. The showers were dark and quiet; save for the sound of running water. Duo expected to be alone, but one stall was already occupied when he entered.

There weren't any curtains, only a small partition separating each stall from the one next to it. Once he entered the large hall, Duo had no trouble recognizing the naked backside of the person occupying the shower booth just opposite of the door, engulfed by a thin cloud of hot steam. Apparently, Heero had also decided that a first shower in days would be more welcomed than sleep.

The teenage pilot stood leaning against the wall in front of him, both arms outstretched to support his weight. He was hunched forward, torso bowed down low, and he was retching quietly, vomiting into the drain between his bare feet. Duo winced at the unpleasant sound and approached quietly. He shed the towel wrapped around his waist, letting it fall to the floor on the way, and joined Heero in the small shower stall. It wasn't until he spoke that Heero seemed to notice his presence. Tired as they were, that was understandable.

"That piss-poor-excuse-for-a-Gundam sure has a grip on you," Duo said quietly as he reached a hand past Heero to grab a bar of soap. Heero tensed and straightened up slowly, his slumped shoulders drawing back into a more confident stance. He turned around dazedly, wiping his chin with the back of his hand. He looked awful; his face gaunt and eyes bleary with fatigue, a feverish gleam in his usually sharp Prussian blue eyes. His long bangs were plastered over his pale face, dripping. He looked at Duo blankly, waiting quietly. Duo offered a small, strained smile.

"Side effects are a bitch, huh?" he added sympathetically and reached for Heero's limp hand, holding it gently so he could lather it up.

"I mean, I only rode that Hellish thing _once_, and that was enough to last me a lifetime..." he sighed and reached for Heero's other arm, allowing the first to fall lifelessly at his side. Heero stood passively still, listening, and allowed Duo to wash him.

"That thing sure had me trippin'... I saw _Hell_ when I was in there. I was sure I was losing my mind..." Duo recalled uneasily. He glanced up, seeking Heero's stoic face and added a timid: "What do you see?"

Heero's hand tensed. He drew it away from Duo's grasp and turned around slowly, presenting his backside, which was no small gesture; Heero didn't turn his back on just anyone. Duo got the hint and began soaping it up as well. Unlike his scar-ridden backside, Heero's back was smooth; muscular and strong, even in this weary state.

The water was still running, dripping loudly to the floor.

"You know..." Duo continued after a while, "this might very well be the final act of this fucking war," he paused; "Does it ever show you what comes afterwards?"

Heero said nothing in reply. He leaned his head down tiredly, pressing his forehead against the wall. Water cascaded in warm torrents down his bent back. He shook his head against the wall, face hidden from sight.

"Howard said he heard you speak to it," Duo revealed quietly, almost hesitant; he was threading on thin ice. "In the hangar," he added carefully. "Funny that you talk to that _devilish_ thing, but you won't say a word to me..."

"ZERO gives me clarity... not premonitions," Heero mumbled against the wall, his head still hunched against it. His voice was low and raspy, worn-out by exhaustion.

"You spent the whole day yesterday on that thing while we were out there fighting," Duo mumbled; "It musta shown you _something_."

Heero turned back around, finally facing him. His piercing expression remained unreadable as he studied Duo quietly for a tense moment. Duo stood his ground, looking evenly into Heero's eyes. They were roughly the same height – Heero just a tad taller – both just as stubborn, and such a staring contest could last for days if one of them didn't decide to break it. This time, Duo decided, he won't be the first to cave. Heero must have picked up on his determination and hence was the first to break eye contact. He turned around slowly and reached a hand to switch the water off.

"There's gotta be more than just Hell out there, right?" Duo asked helplessly, his eyes pleading Heero to throw him a bone, give him some kind of answer; something solid, for once. Something he could hold onto as they plunge themselves into oblivion.

Heero turned back around and fixed his intense blue eyes on Duo. When he finally moved, it was far too fast to even grasp. In a flash he had Duo pinned against the partition to their side; wet naked bodies colliding audibly. Duo gasped, surprised to find himself caught between Heero's hard body and the wall. His gasping breath was stolen by a fierce kiss as the Wing-ZERO pilot leaned forward and ravaged Duo's mouth hungrily. The kiss was wet, hot and sloppy; fueled by desperation and untamable aggression. No restraints; Heero never held back around him. It was dangerous, and it was painful, but Duo loved it; that was how he knew that he was getting the _real_ thing, the real Heero: callous, blunt and utterly destructive.

He raised both arms up, wrapping them around Heero's slick body, and returned the kiss, his advances just as frenzied. Steely arms tightened around his waist until it hurt. One arm snuck up to grab the thick part of his braid at the back of the neck, pushing his head closer and deeper into the fierce kiss. When Heero's ravenous lips began traveling downwards, Duo stopped him, pushing him off with two firm arms. Heero didn't budge and continued his advances, slowly crouching down, his hands trailing along Duo's nude body, so Duo shoved harder, knocking him away forcefully.

Heero finally got the hint and stopped, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, his feral blue eyes looking up at Duo as he rose slowly. Duo was still leaning against the partition behind him, an angry scowl on his face, his lips bruised. They remained standing face to face, unmoving, water dripping quietly from their slick, wet bodies. The droplets joined the puddle of water at their feet, slowly flowing down the drain in a series of quiet gurgles.

"You saw something... didn't you?" Duo whispered with panting, shallow, breath. "ZERO showed you something... gave you... _clarity_."

Heero remained silent, simply looking at him with unreadable eyes.

"It's her," Duo determined forlornly, his expression wretched. "You saw _her_... in your future."

Heero held his gaze quietly for a moment more before breaking eye contact. He moved to step out of the small shower stall. Duo turned around and watched as Heero walked over to the bench where he had placed his things and grabbed a towel. He dried himself hastily; his movements stiff and automated, and then wrapped the towel around his naked waist. He gathered his belongings and headed for the door.

The automatic doors swooshed open with a silent hiss. Heero stopped at the doorway, pausing for a moment. All Duo could see from where he was standing was his muscular backside.

"I see my enemy..." Heero replied in a calm, steady tone; "never a future," he mumbled quietly, bowing his head down. "We have no future, Duo," he added somberly and then walked out into the hallway. The automatic door closed behind him and Duo was left alone in the showers.

Back then he didn't know whether Heero was being his usual fatalistic self, telling him that they probably won't make it out alive, or was he saying that there was no future for them as a couple, but years later the answer was obvious. Heaving a hopeless sigh, Duo turned off the water and stepped out of the shower. He glared at his older-self in the mirror. Heero had decided long ago that there will be no future for the two of them, so why was he still hoping that he'd change his mind?

* * *

><p>Local L2-TV wouldn't stop talking about what happened down at The Pit. One newscast after the other... again and again... the same story from every possible angle. Three days have passed but the wound was still fresh, still bleeding, and the media was refusing to put a stop to it. Even the usually cheerful morning shows no longer dealt with eggnog recipes or how to make your own Christmas decorations, rather they too were grinding the story to death, interviewing bereaved parents, law enforcement widows, social workers and various therapists with advice on how to get youngsters out of trouble before it was too late and whatnot. It was a disgusting media festival one couldn't avoid watching.<p>

Duo sat on the floor between his couch and the coffee table, smoking and drinking, and watched a surgically-enhanced blonde babe with a permanent Botox smile trying to look serious while discussing the tragedy with her morning panel of yammering assholes. There was a bottle of Jameson whiskey on the coffee table, nearly half-empty, along with an array of empty beer cans, an open pack of Winston Blue and pizza leftovers still in the box. Duo held a can in his hand, a smoke in the other. He took a sip, then a drag on his cigarette, his red-rimmed eyes glued to the television screen.

He hasn't slept in two days, ever since he came off the Magic. He was exhausted, angry, drunk and upset. He should have gone to work, but he hadn't. He couldn't. Not yet. All he could be bothered doing was to watch TV, constantly reminding him of his mistake, of his inability to save Joe's kid. Self-flagellation and self-pity were his sole company. He glared at the television screen hatefully, his hard expression full of contempt.

More footage of The Pit Massacre was being played on the morning news, one replay after another... throwing his faults in his face. He gulped down more beer. The news then switched to foreign affairs and images of the New York City murders were on his screen again, taunting him further with mistakes of the past.

The news was recapturing the events surrounding the deaths of the Redeemer's seventh victim. Once again he was forced to face images of a person that has haunted his dreams lately. It seemed that no matter where the media was shooting, agent Heero Yuy was always there, always in the background, always accompanied by a pretty redheaded agent. Right now they were shown working a crime scene in Lower Manhattan, speaking to witnesses in the background while a reporter stood in the foreground of the frame, speaking to the camera. Duo ignored him and focused only on Heero. The young agent was holding a small notepad and pen, speaking to a distraught young woman whose angry face was soaked with tears. He was writing down whatever she was saying.

Duo smirked darkly. Seven victims... seven people Heero had also failed. Yeah. That's right. Heero also made mistakes... too many to keep track of.

"You screw up too..." Duo rasped in a low, gruff voice worn by alcohol and fatigue. "You screw everything up! You're as screwed up as they come!" he growled nastily, slamming his beer on the coffee table. "You make mistakes... You screwed me over... screwed them over... us... _everybody! _You made a mistake! You must have! You were out of commission for _fourteen months_ – you musta made a mistake!" He roared, jumping up to his feet, his long braid flapping behind him.

"You fucked up too!" he shouted passionately at the television, his chest burning... heart pounding wildly. "You must have!" he insisted, his cobalt eyes shining manically and watering with tears. Suddenly, all he wanted was to prove Heero wrong – at anything and everything. Heero _had_ to be wrong: about them, about Relena, about his work... about _everything_ from then to now. Heero _had_ to be wrong. He had made a grave mistake and breaking up was just one out of many mistakes. It had to be!

He hurried towards his bedroom and yanked his laptop from the dresser by the bed. Flopping down on the creaky mattress, he flipped the screen opened and booted it up, ready to tackle the Preventer database once again. He will find out what happened on Christmas AC 202. He will find a flaw... a mistake... proof that he shouldn't have put Heero on a pedestal for so many God damned years. Today, it shall finally end.

His fingers flew hastily and skillfully over the keyboard. He used every hacking skill he could recall from back in the day, but after over six hours of sifting through files and breaching heavy security protocols, he came up empty. Nothing mentionable seemed to have happened at around Christmas AC 202, not according to anything in Preventer's North American National Security Branch, which he knew Heero had worked for at the time. Even if something had been classified as top secret, there should have at least been a trace, a mention... something – even censored, but still... Yet there was none. That couldn't be right... could it?

Heaving a weary sigh, Duo fell back against the bed, landing on his back, the laptop still in his lap. He stared dully at the ceiling. He noted that his bedroom was now dark. Evening has fallen and he hadn't even noticed. He felt drained and parched; hours of hacking finally catching up with him. The anger had dissipated after hours of hard, useless, work, leaving him numb inside.

What happened back in AC 202? What caused Heero to leave Preventer for over a year if there was no major security event? Christmas was also the anniversary of the end of the war, celebrated across Earth and Space since Christmas AC 195 (with exception of the AC 196 Incident). It was a hard time for many, always bringing back unwanted memories. This upcoming holiday, just a few days away, would mark the eighth anniversary. 202 had been the sixth, but what was so special about that certain anniversary? Could it be that Heero had some sort of meltdown back then? Why then? Why not any other Christmas? Something _must_ have happened. It would require a lot to take Heero off duty for so long, and then sit him behind a desk instead of back on Operations. What was he missing? He had to know!

His laptop beeped. Duo frowned and sat up slowly, reopening the screen. There was a private message waiting there, even though he had no instant messaging software or account. He stared at it warily. The sender was N/A and the message read: You're back.

Duo's heart started racing, pounding with forbiddance. Someone was on to him again. Damn it. He should log off while he still could, but the next message made it impossible: Is this what you're looking for?

There was a link below. He hesitated for less than a second before clicking on it. A black and white document popped up. Duo took a deep breath, and read it:

**PROGRESS (SOAP) NOTES:**

December 26, AC 203, 13:30

**DR. D. WRIGHT**

**Preventer North America HQ**

**Washington DC**

**United States of America, ESUN**

**CC:** Agent Heero Yuy, 23-year-old male. Temporarily inactive since 12.27.202. Established patient with a history of abuse (abnormal childhood), PTSD and repeated suicide attempts. Medicated with stable symptoms of PTSD, survivor's guilt, depression and anxiety. Bereaved parent. Heavy smoker – quit smoking three weeks ago. Occasional drinker. No substance abuse. History of anabolic steroids abuse (involuntary) – clean for 8 years. Undergoing PT for left leg injury. Bi-monthly visits.

Final Fitness-for-Duty examination scheduled for 01.05.204

**Note: Seen on urgent basis at patient's request.**

**Significant Events over Past 48 Hours:**

- Christmas & Peace Celebrations

- 1 year since loss of only daughter

- 1 year since** CLASSIFIED**

- 8 years since** CLASSIFIED**

**(S) Subjective: **

* Vegetative symptoms:

- Insomnia – severe

- Loss of appetite – severe

- Anxiety – severe

- Lack of concentration/energy – severe

- Headaches – severe

* Patient's complaints:

- Difficulty performing everyday tasks but coping has been more or less acceptable

- Significant increase in alcohol consumption

- Resumed smoking

- Extreme situational sadness

- Extreme anxiety when stressed

- Increased distress related to the Holidays, **CLASSIFIED** and **CLASSIFIED**

* Requests:

- Hold off return to active duty

- Avoid hospital admission

**(O) Objective: **

* Vital Signs: BP (sitting) 115/70, P 86 and regular, Ht 5'11", Wt 168 lbs

* Medication: Desyreltite Ludiphimil; Tytrocyline; Medomite Nytrine

**Mental Status Exam:**

*** Appearance:** good personal hygiene, appropriate dress and well groomed. Appears stated age.

*** Behavior**: rigid posture and movement, psychomotor agitation

*** Speech**: normal rate and tone, coherent

*** Attention & Concentration**: impaired - unable to focus on serial 7s

*** Thought Process**: logical

*** Thought Content**: suicidal ideation, anxiety, flashbacks, nightmares; no homicidal ideation, no delusions or paranoia

*** Mood: **dysthymic

*** Associations**: intact

*** Judgment**: good

*** Recent & Remote Memory**: good

*** Insight**: good understanding of the situation

**(A) Assessment:**

*** Problem 1: **PTSD & Survivor's guilt

**- Comment:** Major relapse

**- Plan:** Increase dose of antipsychotic; write script

*** Problem 2:** Depression

**- Comment:** Major relapse

**- Plan:** Increase dose of SSRI; write script

*** Problem 3:** Anxiety

**- Comment:** Major relapse

**- Plan:** Same dose of SSRI

**(P) Plan:**

*** **Follow-up in 3 days

*** **Hold off on hospital admission unless symptoms worsen

*** **Hold off on Fitness-for-Duty exam until symptoms stabilize

Duo gaped at the file in disbelief, his heart pounding painfully. As technical and clinical as the information was, he still felt awful; like he had peeked straight into Heero's agonized soul without permission. He had violated something sacred... and it hurt.

The file said that Heero had lost a child... a daughter. A _daughter!_ And then he flipped out. Jesus Christ... Duo didn't know how he should feel about that. For now, he felt numb; terrible. There was a cry lodged in his throat, suffocating him. Heero had a daughter... and he had lost her. _Fuck_.

So something _did_ happen on Christmas 202. He had found the reference he's been looking for. He wished he hadn't, yet a nagging thirst to know more remained.

He tried to dig deeper into the database, using every hacking skill he had acquired many years ago, but they were long outdated. He couldn't uncover the information no matter what he tried. Discouraged, he leaned back onto the bed and heaved a tired sigh. He stared numbly at the laptop, at a loss. It was useless.

As though reading his grim thoughts, the computer suddenly gained a life of its own. Digits and code lines rushed up the screen at a staggering speed. Windows opened and closed far too quickly for him to grasp what was in them. A turmoil of software code flashed before his eyes, faster and faster until suddenly... it stopped. A single window remained open over a black screen. A video was loading. Duo leaned forward, holding his breath, and braced himself for what he was about to see. This _someone_ on the other side was throwing him a bone. Who and why... he didn't really care at the moment. He wanted answers... no matter what.

A title popped on the blank screen: _'The following footage is classified SCI and is to be cleared for viewing by authorized personnel only' _[[i]]_._ The title vanished after a few seconds. The video buffer-counter began rising slowly from 28% to 75%. An image appeared on the screen; an unidentified blurry and pixelated mess of what seemed like a person. The buffer reached 95% and the video image cleared, though still frozen. It came into focus and Duo's breath caught in his throat; he choked.

He was looking at a still footage of Heero: battered, beaten, bleeding and badly bruised. The young man was sitting on a chair in some featureless room, stripped down to his socks and boxers. The illumination was dim, but it was more than enough to expose gruesome details. The entire right side of Heero's face was covered with hideous bruises; a disgusting staining of yellow, black, purple and blue. His right eye was swollen shut; sliced and clotted with dry blood. His hair was also caked with blood and plastered over the left side of his head, where a large gash was visible, cutting all the way down to his left temple and cheek. Blood sheeted down the left side of his face. His lips were split and bleeding. He sat still, looking at the camera through a single blue eye.

Looking down at his naked torso, Duo noted that it was glistening with sweat; bleeding, filthy and bruised. There was a huge sickly discoloration under his ribs, all the way down to his bare abdomen. His chest was littered with cuts; covered with black grime and blood. He was dressed only in a pair of blood-soaked boxer shorts. His bare legs were seriously injured; a large nail was jammed into his left kneecap, sticking out of an infected, blood-clotted wound. The sight was ghastly. Duo felt sick.

Sadly, the terrible injuries weren't the most appalling part of the brutal footage. What made Duo's heart sink down painfully were the two small children sitting on Heero's lap, one on each leg. They sat huddled against him, their small heads resting on each of his naked shoulders, faces hidden from the camera. He held them against him, his muscular yet bloodied arms wrapped around each small body, embracing them and supporting them so they won't fall. The one on Heero's left was a boy, his dark skin suggesting an African decent; the one on the right was a girl, her long blonde hair suggesting Caucasian. They couldn't have been more than two or three years old.

Duo gaped at the grisly image, unable to breathe.

The buffer reached 100% and the video started playing. Judging by the shaky footage, it must have been taken by a smartphone-camera. Sound and image quality weren't so great; there was a hollow echo when Heero finally spoke:

"My name is Heero Yuy," he croaked with a raspy, trembling, voice; "Badge number 72531101," his voice wavered; it was hard for him to speak. He sounded on the verge of tears. "I am speaking on behalf of...on behalf of the WF Liberation Movement." He paused to swallow, struggling to form the words. He took a deep breath and resumed his speech: "It's been fourteen hours and their demands have yet to be answered. There... there are only thre—"

A shot was fired. The little boy in Heero's arms jerked for a split second, before sagging lifelessly against him. Blood oozed from the back of the boy's small dark head. He had just been shot – executed.

Heero froze, utterly horrified. His one good eye and mouth gaped open in shock. His bruised face drained completely of color, twisting into a tortured, wretched expression. The little blonde girl started weeping loudly, shaking against him like a leaf in a storm. Her small face was buried in Heero's shoulder. He raised his hand up slowly from where it was wrapped around her trembling back and rested it over the back of her head, keeping it down and pressed against him so she won't look up. He gazed numbly at the camera, pausing for a moment, and then found his voice again, just barely:

"There... there's only... t-two of us... left..." he corrected with a shaky, cracking voice. He was trembling visibly, but still kept his one arm around the little boy's dead body and the other holding the weeping girl against him.

"Two out of thirteen," he stated bleakly. He paused again, inhaling a quivery breath, before he managed to continue: "I-if their demands won't be fully answered in the next hour—" A burly man entered the frame, his face concealed by a ski-mask. Heero stopped, gasping, choking on tears. The masked man pulled the dead little boy out of Heero's arm and dragged his small body across the floor, taking him away. Heero showed no resistance. Once his arm fell lifelessly at his side, no longer holding the little boy, Heero raised it up again and wrapped both arms around the little girl, steadying her on his injured lap, hugging her against his wounded chest. He held her tightly in a protective embrace, looked up again and leveled his one good eye with the camera.

"Please..." he pleaded weakly, a stream of helpless tears sliding down his one open eye; "...please... she's... she's my... Lena... are you there? She... she's our... you... you can't let her die here... I can't... I can't... there's nothing more I can give them..." he wept; his voice breaking with helpless hiccups as he fought to keep talking: "You... you have o-one hour left before... before..." he shook his head, struggling to keep talking coherently. "I'm next," he said, inhaling a gulp of air so he could speak steadily as he looked miserably at the camera.

"Once I'm... gone... you'll... you'll have another half hour to... to ensure the release of... the release of all White Fang prisoners currently held on... on ESUN soil, and to... t-to secure safe passage for... for all WFLM activists in the DC area. Ninety minutes before they... they... before she... she will die... alone." Tears poured freely from his one open eye. "Please..." he let out a small, strangled sob, weeping pitifully; "I'm sorry..." he cried brokenly, sobbing louder; "I'm so sorry!"

The picture went black.

Duo sat rooted frozen to his seat, gaping dully at the blank screen.

He couldn't breathe.

He couldn't move.

He couldn't live with himself for witnessing what he just had.

Duo jumped off the bed and slammed the laptop screen shut. His heart palpitated strongly in his chest. He shouldn't have seen that... he shouldn't have seen it! Who was showing him all of this? Why!

It was a well-known fact that the ESUN's declared policy was to never negotiate with terrorists, but obviously they had, because Heero survived. And the girl didn't? Was she really Heero's and Relena's daughter?! If news of Relena Darlian's child was ever in the media, he should have put one and one together and figured it out!

Heero had lost his child that day. That must be why he was off duty for so long. Heero was the sole survivor of that incident... he had outlived his own child.

Duo fell down to his knees and gaped dully at the bed. His chest hurt and pulsed badly... about to explode. Damn... dammit!

"_Dammit!_" he exclaimed loudly. He couldn't breathe... He couldn't... couldn't... shit... He bowed his head and covered his face in his hands.

"Fuck... Heero... dammit... Oh God... what da fuck..." he cried, shaking his head in denial.

How could he have missed something _this_ big, _this_ terrible? Could it be that the incident was all over the news but he had missed it on account of being too high to notice? How could he? People would have talked... like they were talking about The Pit. A dozen people butchered by extremists and no one knew? Not even a mention on Preventer's database? How could that be? It made no sense that the only insinuation of the tragedy would be in Heero's psychiatrist's file! Was there some sort of cover-up? Why? Because the ESUN negotiated? Relena must have stepped in... she must have. She was the one who made a mistake, not Heero.

"Jesus..." Duo breathed, shaking uncontrollably. He fell helplessly against the bed, caving under unbearable tragedy. Tears stung his eyes and he hurried to wipe them away before they spilled.

He reached for the laptop with trembling hands and slowly lifted the screen back up. The IM was still open. His fingers shook on the keyboard as he typed back a reply:

Who are you? Why are you showing me this?

A response was soon to come: An eye for an eye. I quenched your thirst for knowledge, now you quench mine.

He waited for a question to follow, but none came. His small bedroom suddenly felt awfully silent. He stared blankly at the screen, waiting. His mind numbed. He couldn't get the images he had just seen out of his head. It hurt so much to see Heero cry... he will never be able to get that sound of out of his head.

His cellphone started ringing. Duo jerked, startled, and whirled towards his bedside table, where his cellphone was laid. He hesitated for a moment, just staring at his phone, and then finally reached for it. The caller ID was an unrecognized number, but Duo was familiar with the area code digits: Earth, USA, NYC.

He inhaled a deep breath and answered the call. "Maxwell," he said firmly, trying to sound cool even though he was shuddering inside. There was no reply. The caller hung up.

* * *

><p>[i] SCI: Sensitive Compartmented Information (AKA Top Secret)<p>

* * *

><p><strong>Reminder: <strong>I'm only posting chapters 1-8. Chapters 9-18 are rated MA and hence no longer suitable for this archive. As I've mentioned before, you can find the complete story (all 18 chapters) on the AO3 archive (just follow the link on my profile page. You can also download the eBook).

Elle


	5. Chapter 5: NA

**Reminder: **I'm only posting chapters 1-8. Chapters 9-18 are rated MA and hence no longer suitable for this archive. As I've mentioned before, you can find the complete story (all 18 chapters) on the AO3 archive (just follow the link on my profile page. You can also download the eBook).

Elle

**Warning: This part is rated M.**

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 05: NA**

Heero's small Manhattan apartment stood silent, empty and undisturbed, as it usually was for most part of the day. The low buzzing of various appliances was the only sound typically heard between the bare walls. The slat-blinds over the large living room window were partially closed and only dim rays of sunset light filtered into the modest residence. The polished hardwood floor was spotless; evidence of how rarely it was stepped upon. Every surface was clean, not even a glass ring stain to be found. The kitchen countertop and sink sparkled like they had never been used. The only evidence of anyone ever using the apartment was the single Chinese takeout box resting on the worktop by the microwave oven; where it must have been eaten in a hurry, standing up.

The sounds of jingling keys, coming from the other side of the closed apartment door, cut through the heavy silence. A key was inserted into the lock. It turned, and the door opened. Heero stepped into the apartment carrying a small white paper bag bearing a green pharmacy logo. He was dressed in his black Preventer uniform; snowflakes piled on the khaki shoulder-patches of his jacket. A few white flakes were still caught in his brown hair, but most have already melted and dampened the messy strands, plastering them over his forehead.

He locked the door behind him and walked into the kitchen, his wet boots leaving footmarks on the dark hardwood floor. He threw the small paper bag on the counter and turned to shed off his wet jacket, revealing the khaki dress-shirt and black tie he wore underneath, as well as a handgun tucked into a concealment holster above his belt. He had been cleared back for duty.

Heero hung the jacket on the back of a kitchen chair and unfastened the holster, throwing it – and the pistol – on the worktop as well. He was about to turn to the small pharmacy bag, but then stopped and whirled back around to the discarded weapon. He stared at it for a moment, his expression torn, before he finally reached to take it out of the holster. He held the small handgun for a moment, looking at it wretchedly, and then walked over to the refrigerator. Reaching up, he placed the small firearm on the top of the fridge, nudging it towards the center until it was out of sight. He then walked back to where he had left the paper bag.

He opened it and pulled out three orange prescription bottles. He placed them in a row on the clean countertop and opened each one. He twisted the cap of the first and in a sudden clumsy slip of his fingers the small container slid from his grasp and fell to the floor, its contents spilling in a loud rattle, small blue pills rolling everywhere, scattering on the floor in a chaotic pattern.

Heero stared numbly at the mess at his feet, took a deep breath and exhaled slowly in an attempt to keep calm. He knelt down carefully, mindful of how much weight he was putting on his left kneecap, and began collecting the small pills back into the bottle. Once done he stood back up, only to bump the top of his head on the narrow countertop ledge. He cussed, hissing in pain and rubbing his head. He reached a hand up to grab the damn worktop – fist clutched around the traitorous ledge for support – and rose carefully to his feet, wavering slightly from side to side; he was feeling a bit woozy.

He sighed and resumed opening his prescriptions; a concentrated expression on his face as he struggled to coordinate stiff, clumsy fingers. Pouring himself a glass of tap water, he gulped his medications down one by one. Just as he was about to down the third pill, his cellphone beeped. He slammed his cup of water on the kitchen countertop and shoved a hand into his pants pocket, pulling it out. An SMS was waiting; it was from Merida: Guess we're back on. Eliot's, 2030 hrs. It's a pub. No dress code_._

Heero sighed irately and shoved the smartphone back into his pocket. He took the last pill and stomped out of the kitchen.

* * *

><p>The clock screensaver on Heero's smartphone showed 21:07 just before the phone started ringing and the display changed to show the caller's ID: <em>'Agent Shaw'<em>. The sleek device was lying on Heero's bedside table. The bedroom was dark, aside from the soft blue halo the smartphone screen was now projecting on the ceiling. In this dim blue light, a shadowy figure could be seen lying in bed, concealed under thick covers, a head of short, messy hair sprawled over the pillow. As the ringing persisted, Heero stirred, moaning sleepily, and rolled over, now facing the nightstand. He reached a clumsy hand towards it, searching blindly for the phone while he struggled to open his eyes. His eyelids fluttered up and down lazily, refusing to remain open. His fingers found the smartphone, so he kept his eyes closed and brought the device up to his ear.

"...'ello?" he slurred with a sleep-heavy voice.

"Heero?" Merida's voice replied instantly; she sounded pissed. "Are you seriously _standing me up_?" she demanded harshly; "We were supposed to meet over half an hour ago!"

"Wha—what?" he muffled groggily, blinking repeatedly as he tried to open his eyes again.

"Eliot's, Heero," Shaw repeated, sighing. "We have a date. Baker's orders, remember?"

Finally managing to keep his heavy eyes open, Heero pushed up on one elbow. He stared blankly at the wall for moment and then cast his gaze back down, scowling.

"I uh... yeah..." he finally confirmed and threw the blanket aside, revealing a pair of boxers and tank top undershirt; "Sorry... I... I thought I... I was still off... off duty..." he mumbled as he struggled to sit up, having a hard time pushing off the bed. He flung two legs off the edge and planted both feet on the floor, using the movement as leverage to sit up.

"Heero, are you alright?" Merida's worried voice spoke to him through the phone. "You don't sound too good. You were sleeping, weren't you?"

"No, I... fine—" he cleared his throat; "I'm fine," he corrected in a steadier tone and stood up hastily, flinging a hand forward to grab the night table for support or else he'd tumble. His vision came in and out of focus; he was dizzy. He steadied himself, turned on the bedside light and hurried towards the dresser at the other side of the room. The smartphone was tucked between his ear and shoulder.

"I'll be there in twenty," he promised, yanking a drawer full of clothes open, and hung up.

* * *

><p>He showed up at Eliot's – a small East Village pub – about half an hour later, stepping out of a yellow NYC taxi dressed sloppily in a pair of dark blue jeans, a plain black shirt, a shabby dark-brown leather jacket and ragged old Dirty Bucks shoes. There was a distinct five O'clock shadow on his stubbly face and his hair was a scruffy mess, betraying the obvious fact that he had just gotten out of bed and rushed down there. Merida was waiting outside in the cold, hugging her elegant coat tightly around herself, an angry expression on her made-up face.<p>

"Sorry," he huffed as he approached and walked her to the door, keeping it open for her as she stepped in first. She sent him a quick glare, sighed, and walked inside.

The place was dim, stuffy and full of cigarette smoke. Low music was playing in the background. They got a seat in a private booth by a window overlooking the street, shedding their coats off and throwing them onto the brown leather benches. Merida was also dressed rather plainly: snug blue jeans and a purple blouse with just the right amount of cleavage. She could swear she caught him staring for a split second before a waitress came and handed them menus.

"Should we order a drink?" Merida asked as she skimmed hastily through the menu.

"We're on duty," Heero reminded her curtly.

"Well, I've been waiting out in the cold for over an hour," she snapped, "I'm getting a drink."

Heero placed his menu down. "Fine."

"Order one too," she instructed snappily; "It's supposed to be a date."

The waitress returned. Shaw ordered a Cosmopolitan cocktail and French fries on the side; Heero asked for a shot of Jameson Whiskey and a certain European beer. As they waited quietly for their order, he pulled out a pack of Winston Blue from his jacket, which lay at his side.

"Mind if I smoke?" he asked while drawing a smoke out of the pack.

"That's why I picked the place," Merida informed him with half a smile. "Do you know how hard it is to find a place that doesn't ban smoking? That nasty habit of yours sure makes us easier to track down."

Heero nodded and lighted his cigarette. The waitress returned with their orders, placing a basket of greasy fries at the center of the table and handing each their drink. Heero took a small sip of beer and resumed smoking. Merida munched on some French fries and then turned to her drink. She stirred it absentmindedly with a straw, watching him dully.

"So... no more Skittles?" she finally opened in conversation, using a friendlier tone to declare a truce. She took a small sip from her cocktail and waited for his answer.

"What's the point," Heero sighed wearily and reached for his foreign beer bottle, holding his burning smoke in the same hand.

"I didn't take you for a quitter," she teased and he shrugged, taking a swig from the bottle and finishing with another drag on his cigarette.

"I pick my battles," he mumbled broodingly, paused to think, then shrugged and took another puff. "This one is not worth the effort," he concluded.

Merida snarled knowingly, seeing straight through his rationalized excuse. "Yeah, quitting is a bitch," she sneered teasingly.

They sat in silence for a while, she sipping her Cosmo quietly, staring at the table, while he smoked and gazed ahead solemnly.

"You never told me how you knew," Merida finally picked up the conversation.

Heero turned to look at her, frowning. "Knew what?"

"That he took the bait," she clarified. "That's why Baker managed to get you back in, right?"

He sighed quietly and cast his gaze back down. She watched him lift the cigarette back to his lips, take a long drag and release the smoke slowly.

"He contacted me," Heero finally said as he reached to shake his cigarette over an ashtray; "Sent me a message."

"He did?" she marveled, quite shocked; "Why? He never contacted any of the other victims."

Heero placed his burning smoke in the ashtray and reached for his shot of whiskey.

"I'm not just any other victim," he muttered and gulped down the shot, slamming the glass down on the table once done.

She frowned, confused. "Meaning what?"

Heero picked up his cigarette again and took another puff. He then helped himself to some French fries. After realizing that she won't get an answer out of him, Merida released a frustrated sigh.

"Well, what did he say?" she asked instead.

He took another sip of beer and the lowered the bottle down a bit, just enough so he could answer. "Nothing important," he said and raised the bottle for another sip. "Just letting me know he's there," he added once he placed the bottle back on the table. He had nearly finished it, as well as his smoke, which he turned to stub out in the ashtray.

Agent Shaw scowled warily; wrinkles forming on her freckled face.

"Would that be the night you collapsed?" she asked warily.

Heero took another cigarette out of the pack. He signaled the waitress for another shot of whiskey by pointing at his empty glass. She nodded to acknowledge. He lit up his second smoke and leaned back into his seat, avoiding Merida's eyes the whole time.

"There are rumors about you, you know," Shaw tried a different approach. That got his attention. His eyes shot up, sharp and piercing, pinning her gaze with his. He looked at her intensely, his expression giving away nothing. He took a puff on his cigarette, releasing smoke in her direction. "Are there now," he muttered cynically.

"I did some checking after our talk in the stairwell yesterday," she informed him bluntly; "Turns out you're even a bigger mystery than I thought."

The waitress returned with his second order of whisky. He gulped down the shot and placed it evenly on the table. He resumed smoking, finally turning to look at his partner again.

"What do they say about me?" he dared her in a challenging tone.

Merida shrugged, stirring her drink. "All sort of crazy things," she admitted and took a sip; "Hard to sift anything solid out of the madness."

He scoffed, smirking in an almost sultry manner. The alcohol was obviously starting to affect him, for he was loosening up.

"Story of my life," he groused as he brought the cigarette back up to his unshaven face.

Merida offered him a small, sympathetic smile. The silence resumed for a moment or two before she spoke again.

"Is it true you used to be with Senator Darlian?" she asked carefully, knowing she was approaching a touchy subject, but hoping that the alcohol would keep him talking.

"That's no secret," Heero muttered solemnly and reached for his beer, finishing it with a few quick gulps.

"She's the _'Her'_ on your phone, isn't she?"

Heero shoved the empty beer bottle aside and reached for some fries, clearly unwilling to either confirm or deny her guess.

"Rumor has it you two met during the war," she pressed on; "You must have been mere kids back then."

"Your point being?" he asked, annoyed, and stubbed out his second finished smoke into the ashtray. He reached for the pack lying over his jacket and drew a third cigarette out of the box. There was only one more left. He held the smoke between his lips as he lighted it up, his eyes still glaring at Merida fiercely.

"It's a well-known fact that she was involved with one of the Gundam pilots during the war," the redheaded agent pointed out boldly.

"So?" he muffled with the burning cigarette still tucked between his lips and shoved the lighter back into the box, thumping it shut violently.

"So you're guilty by association..." Merida whispered, leaning forward secretively. She looked him in the eye, holding his fierce gaze for a dramatic moment.

"You're one of them, right?"

Though he had just lit it, Heero stubbed out his smoke in the ashtray.

"We should leave," he said and stood up, pulling his wallet out of jeans' back pocket. He yanked out a few ragged bills and threw them onto the table, right next to his two empty shots of whisky and beer. He grabbed his jacket from the bench and turned to leave. Merida hurried to snatch her things and follow him before he made it out the door.

"I'm right, aren't I?" she called after him once they stepped into a quiet Manhattan side-street. "It sure explains a lot. Is this why it's all so hush-hush?"

Heero ignored the question. He slipped his tattered brown jacket on as he walked ahead of her, heading down the street towards a main road. She picked up her pace to catch up.

"Where are you off to?" she huffed, panting, struggling to keep up on a wobbly pair of high heels. He stopped abruptly and whirled back around to face her. There was a wild, haunted expression on his pale, stubbly, face. He looked utterly distraught. Merida froze in her tracks, not sure of what to make of his odd behavior. Then, in a flash, he suddenly shoved her against the nearest building wall, towering over her menacingly... so dangerously close, engulfing her with a cloud of sultry body heat mixed with the scents of cigarettes, leather and cologne. She could smell the alcohol in his shallow breath as he had her pinned between his firm body and the wall; literally stuck between a rock and a hard place.

"Heero... what are you doing?" she whispered shakily, looking up into his ferocious Prussian blue eyes.

"We're being watched," he whispered back as he leaned forward slowly, a hand rising to push the collar of her coat aside gently. She gasped when his warm lips touched the hollow of her neck. She looked over his broad shoulder, her eyes shifting left and right frantically. She couldn't see anyone around to confirm his claim.

"No, we're not..." she whispered back and placed two hands on his taut chest, pushing him off her gently, not shoving him hard enough to make a scene – in case he was right – but enough to make point. Heero wouldn't budge though. He started nibbling her neck, slowly making his way up to her earlobe.

"Across the street..." he huffed quietly into her ear, his hot breath reeking of cigarettes; "The alley."

Her eyes shot up again, searching the alleyway at the other side of the road. There was no one there.

The palms of her hands were still spread across his firm chest. She pushed him off harder.

"There's no one there," she insisted; "I think you had a bit too much to drink... Looks like you can't really hold your liquor..." she tried to give him a graceful way out, laughing uneasily.

Heero drew back, frowning as he thought about it for a moment. "Usually I can..." he mumbled pensively and then ducked down to kiss her lips. Merida dodged him, turning her head aside.

"Why won't you stop before you do something you'll regret in the morning?" she suggested and pushed hard off the wall with the back of her foot, using it as leverage to finally break free. Heero stumbled a step backwards, still smirking cunningly.

"I've regretted far worse..." he droned the words out in a low, licentious, whisper. He tackled her into the wall again, flinging two arms forward against the wall, blocking her way from both sides. He leaned towards her, his eyes gleaming lustfully; it was an aggressive, dangerous kind of lust.

"Don't tell me you haven't thought about it..." he murmured, his lips hovering alarmingly close to hers.

For a brief moment, Merida simply stared meekly at his pale lips. Of course she had thought about it, she was only human, but that didn't go to say that she was willing to follow it through... and neither should he.

Her breath caught in her throat once she realized that although she didn't know him to be such a man, Heero suddenly struck her as someone capable of actually following such dark desires. There was always something dangerous brewing just beneath the surface of his cool and desolate façade; a frightening, bone-chilling darkness. Such turmoil would eventually drive anyone over the edge, especially when put under so much pressure. She realized with horror that Heero has actually admitted to not being himself on quite a few occasions lately. It then dawned on her just how dangerous her predicament was.

"Okay – I'm calling it a night!" she announced firmly and maneuvered away from him, ducking under his outstretched arm and moving away quickly. She ran towards the main road just a few feet away and waved her hand up to hail a taxi. A yellow cab stopped by her side in a matter of seconds and she hurried to yank the door open. She paused before entering and turned back to look at her partner.

"Go home, Heero," she ordered him in reprimanding tone. "Sleep it off," she added grimly; "I'll see you at the office," she finished with a tired sigh and stepped into the taxi.

Heero watched it drive off. For a long while after it was gone, he remained standing rooted to his spot, his eyes fixed on the empty road. Heaving a long sigh, he leaned back against the building wall and pulled out the cigarette pack from his jacket pocket. He drew the blue lighter and the last cigarette left in the box. He lit it up, glancing up at the alleyway across the street.

A figure was watching from the shadows; waiting.

Heero shoved the lighter and empty cigarette box back into his pocket. He remained leaning against the building wall and had his last smoke, droning-on on each drag so it would last. His eyes were focused on the figure in the alleyway the whole time.

Once the cigarette was about to run out, Heero pulled his smartphone out of his jeans' pocket. He held the burning butt in one hand as his other slid over the touch-screen and entered the contact list. He scrolled down, the names blurring together, until he reached the letter 'H'. He stopped on the name _'Her'_. His finger hovered above the name, never pressing it.

He raised the cigarette back to his mouth, taking one last drag before he had to throw it away. He stared at the contact name, his finger still floating above it, but never dialed. He was just about to put the phone away again, when his eyes caught the name underneath _'Her'_, a new contact he could not recall inputting into his phone. The name read _'Him'_.

Heero scowled warily. He gazed at it for a minute long; the small butt burning away between his lips, close to scalding him. He pulled it out and held it between two fingers, never tearing his gaze off the strange new name.

He dialed.

A phone number appeared digit after digit on the dial-screen as the outgoing call went out: 0002-08744-54-991-6070. It was a mobile number: L2 cluster, colony 08744. A second later, a familiar male voice answered: "Maxwell."

Aghast, Heero hung up and shoved the cellphone back into his pocket. He looked up at the alley again. The figure was still there, still watching.

The burning butt was scalding his fingers. The stinging sensation finally registered and Heero hissed in pain, letting it go. The butt fell to the ground, raising one last column of smoke before burning out completely.

Heero looked up again, his eyes seeking the figure in the dark alley. There was no one there. He stood unmoving, waiting, watching the shadows for movement. There was none.

His hand reached by reflex into his jacket before he recalled that he had left his apartment in a hurry, leaving his gun on the fridge. Wincing at his own stupidity, Heero pulled his smartphone out again, his fingers skimming hastily through the contact list until he reached the name _'Agent Shaw'_. He hesitated a moment, glancing up at the dark alley, and then back at his phone. He dialed.

A few dozen blocks away, Merida was seated at the back of a taxi. When her cellphone rang, she took it out of her purse and read the caller ID: _'Agent Yuy'_. She rolled her eyes, scoffing irately, and hung up the call with a violent press of her finger. She thrust the phone back into her purse, shaking her head in disappointment.

The call disconnected. Heero gaped wretchedly at his cellphone. He sighed. Of course Shaw wasn't going to answer him after tonight...

He looked up at the alleyway again. It was still empty; no sign of the shadowy figure... but Heero knew he was there.

His fist clenched around his phone. He turned his head left and right, searching for movement. The street was empty and dark, aside from the electric purple lights projected by _Eliot's_ neon sign a few dozen feet away. It was hard to see. Heero turned to look in the direction of the main road, which was lit far more brightly. He pushed off the wall and started walking towards it, his pace quickening with each urgent step.

Cars, buses, motorbikes and taxis rushed up and down the busy main street. Traffic flowed in a steady stream well into the wee hours of the night. From time to time people stepped out of the dark side-street, leaving Eliot's as the hours ticked by and morning approached. Friends, couples and singles – drunk and sober alike – they all walked out into the busy street to hail a taxi, departing safely.

Heero, however, never made it out to the main road.

* * *

><p>Kneeling by his bed, Duo gaped dully at his phone long after the mystery caller hung up. His heart was still pounding strongly in his chest. He was certain that he was about to get another call from the same eerie man who had called after his first hack into the Preventer database, yet this time all he managed to hear was a quick gasp before the caller hung up.<p>

His eyes traveled back to the laptop lying open on the bed in front of him. The last IM still displayed on the screen: An eye for an eye. I quenched your thirst for knowledge, now you quench mine.

Duo reached uncertain fingers towards the keyboard. He typed a reply: Was that you?

The cursor blinked over a blank screen for a moment before a response came in: That was a test.

To learn what?

This time, the reply took much longer to appear.

I'll be seeing you soon, it read, and the IM window switched closed. Duo was now staring at a black screen. His laptop has been turned off remotely. His bedroom fell completely dark.

Duo stared ahead dazedly. Someone was fucking with him.

He lifted his cellphone up again and entered the call log. The small screen shed eerie pale light on his face; shadows emphasizing his grim features. He stared at the number of the latest incoming call. He dialed and raised the phone slowly to his ear, a numb expression on his face as he waited. No answer; the call was disconnected on the second ringing tone.

* * *

><p>In a dark and featureless room, a pair of male hands wearing latex gloves carefully folded dark blue jeans, a plain black shirt, a white tank top undershirt – its collar soaked with blood – and a shabby dark-brown leather jacket into a neat pile laid on a plain wooden table. They placed a pair of ragged old Dirty Bucks shoes on top of the pile and tucked a folded black sock into each shoe. They then gently placed the garments inside an open UPS box.<p>

One gloved hand reached for a small black leather wallet resting by the box. It picked it up and flipped it open to reveal the driver's license inside the ID window – Heero's license. The wallet was then placed carefully between the two shoes.

The latex-covered hands turned to pick up one last item from the table. It was a small plastic zip-bag. The inside of the bag was smeared with blood and in it were a bloodied molar-tooth and a tiny electronic chip. The bag was placed inside the box as well.

The hands closed the UPS box, took a thick black marker and wrote:

_'Ms. Relena Darlian, 23 D ST SE, Capitol Hill, Washington DC 20003'_

* * *

><p>Even after a third sleepless night, not going to work the next morning was simply out of the question. Duo showed up at the station bright and early, determined to get some answers. He will not be played with anymore. Whoever was out for it – they now had his full and undivided attention. Someone was trying to thrust him back into Heero's life and he was going to find out why... and then he was going to fucking <em>kill<em> the bastard! He didn't ask for this... and chances were that neither did Heero.

He started off by searching for more information about the 202 DC Incident. He browsed through news archives and law enforcement databases, trying to find a trace of a major event that happened at the time. It was tedious work, which mostly lead to one dead end after the other. There was nothing about a major terrorist attack in Washington DC back in December AC 202; not on the news, not in the police and emergency services records... and most puzzlingly – not even in Preventer's most classified reports. No matter where he dug or how deep, he couldn't even find a trace of the video he had been shown.

After hours of rummaging through government databases, he returned to examine various press releases. None of them mentioned anything remotely close to what he was looking for. There was, however, one small headline that caught his eye. It was a local high-school paper in the DC area that dedicated a small article – barely a few sentences long – to a fire that broke out at a private house party in a Capitol Hill neighborhood on Christmas Eve AC 202. It was a mere drop in an ocean of information, nothing more than a footnote in some high school news blog, but one specific detail singled it out from the rest: there were eleven casualties: men, women and a three-year-old boy._ Bingo._

Duo smirked and leaned back into his creaky chair, stretching his arms over his head. He cracked his knuckles as he gazed smugly at his computer screen. Someone hadn't done a good enough job keeping a tight lid on the press, neglecting the amateur releases.

He stared lengthy at the short article, his eyes never leaving the number '11'. Eleven people had allegedly perished in that fire... not thirteen. That must mean that both Heero and his... daughter... had made it out alive. She survived. Duo was even more relieved than he thought he'd be.

But then... why did Dr. Wright's notes mention that Heero was a bereaved parent? Was that also part of the cover-up? Why? That didn't make any sense. Why write her off as dead?

He was missing something. Someone had obviously picked up on this careless trail of breadcrumbs and was trying to show him that something was amiss... but what? And why bring this information to him? Why draw his attention to what happened in DC? Why hint at what was happening in New York? Could this have anything to do with that _Redeemer_ psycho? What possible connection could there be? The only common factor he could think of seemed to be Heero. And now that he thought about it: why put a former counterterrorism operations' agent on a criminal investigation? Why was Heero cleared for field duty just as the Redeemer started his killing spree? Someone was making sure that he'd notice all of these abnormalities – why?

He decided to look deeper into the Redeemer's murder victims. As a cop, he had little trouble entering NYPD's database. The information was abundant: The killings started about three months ago. There were seven victims so far, with no common factor to point at a certain pattern: different age groups, sex, occupations, kidnapping locations... they all varied with each victim. It seemed that the killer was hunting at random. NYPD's initial reports suspected that they were dealing with blitz attacks rather than premeditated killings. There was no telling where the killer would strike next, which made him impossible to catch.

There was a definite ritual, so it was safe to assume that it was always the same Unknown Subject behind the murders. The Unsub kidnapped his victims, tortured them and then forced them to call a loved one to say goodbye. The victims were tortured further and then finally killed by a gunshot to the head – execution style. The bodies were dumped someplace close to their home so the family would find them. There was always a blindfold around their eyes when they were found. After the fourth victim, Preventer intervened, sending BAU agents and later two of their CID field agents: Shaw and Yuy.

Duo decided to follow a hunch. He extracted the names of the eleven who perished in the 202 DC "fire" from the MPDC database, and crossed-referenced the scarce details with those of the Redeemer's victims listed in the NYPD database. Somehow, he wasn't surprised to find parallels:

_Melissa Mendez, age 22, Latin, American: Perished in DC "fire"._

_Jessica Gomez, age 22, Latin, American: The Redeemer's first victim._

_Michael Lee, age 34, Asian, American: Perished in DC "fire"._

_Jason Wang, age 34, Asian, American: The Redeemer's second victim._

_Cassandra Maes, age 28, Caucasian, EU citizen visiting from Belgium: Perished in DC "fire"._

_Alexandra Janssens, age 28, Caucasian, EU citizen visiting from Belgium: The Redeemer's third victim._

The pattern was the same for all seven murder victims; they each shared the same sex, age and ethnic origin of one of the DC victims. The resemblance was too uncanny to be ignored. Duo was willing to put his money on it that if he looked deeper into the victims' profiles, he would find more similarities, such as occupation and marital status. Furthermore, he was certain that the Redeemer was killing his victims in the same order the DC hostages were executed. That would mean that the eleventh victim will be a three-year-old boy... and what would be of Heero?

"Jesus Christ..." He exhaled uneasily and leaned back into his chair, tapping a pen on the desk nervously. No wonder Preventer stepped in... Someone with enough knowledge of the DC Incident has figured it out. That was why they transferred Heero to the CID... that was why he was on the case. Fuck. The son-of-a-bitch was on a suicide mission again!

His cellphone was lying by the keyboard. Duo reached for it and entered the contact list, where he had stored the New York area mobile number from last night. He had listed it under the name _'N/A'_. His finger hovered above the contact-name for a doubtful moment, and then he dialed. This time, the call was directed straight to voicemail. Duo's heart nearly came to a full stop when the recording of a familiar, quiet and monotonous voice started playing:

"You've reached agent Yuy," it said; "State your name, number and purpose of your call." The curt message was followed by a beep.

Duo hung up quickly, his hand shivering. He placed the cellphone back on the desk, his expression numb.

"Holy fuck..." he whispered anxiously, unable to shake off the dreadful feeling twisting his gut. Heero tried to call him last night. He actually tried to contact him! Could it be that, for the first time in eight years, he finally had something to say? Something must have happened; something... bad.

The landline phone on his desk suddenly started ringing.

"Jesus!" Duo exclaimed, jolting in alarm. He was far too tense; his heart still palpitating. He straightened in his seat, ran a hand through his long bangs and reached for the receiver. He paused for second, inhaling a deep breath, and picked up the call.

"Maxwell."

He was answered by a female voice. "Detective Maxwell, hello," she greeted briskly; "I'm agent Merida Shaw of Preventer's NYC Field Office. Can we speak?"

Duo's heart sank painfully, crashing into his ribcage. Damn it; he had a bad feeling about this. It couldn't possibly a coincidence that this phone call came just as he had unraveled the truth about the killings. Someone out there was carefully orchestrating the whole thing. He was a pawn in a game, but to what end?

"Sure," he said as casually as he could manage, attempting to sound as ignorant as he was supposed to be; "What can I do for you, agent?"

Agent Shaw heaved a despaired sigh. "Hopefully... help save my partner's life," she declared dramatically. "I have reason to believe you know him... Heero Yuy."

Duo grimaced; his fears confirmed. Something happened to Heero.

"Yeah... I knew him... once," he mumbled, sighing; "How do you know about it?"

For a moment, there was an awkward silence, before Shaw spoke again.

"I think someone wanted me to," she said, hesitating; "To be honest, I was following a hunch calling you. Looks like I was right. You were also one of them, weren't you?"

His heart started racing again, as it often did when someone was onto him and his past as a Gundam pilot. Then again, after so many years, he should have learned to get the surge of panic under control.

"We were partners, yeah," he confirmed quietly. "But what does it haffta do with anything?"

"I believe that you're far more qualified to answer that question, detective," Shaw replied forlornly; "Right now I need you to get on the next flight to New York City. We don't have much time."

* * *

><p>Duo got on the first available flight leaving the L2 Cluster for Earth. Being a commercial charter flight, he was looking at a 36 hour trip, with a stop on the Moon to change connections headed for New York City. Sitting in a window-seat, he gazed out at the distant stars, as he had been doing for the past hour since the shuttle left the L2 spaceport. His troubled expression reflected on the cool glass.<p>

He remembered looking out at the stars in a rare moment of tranquility during his last mission with Heero; their last flight together. They were headed to colony L3 X-18999 in an attempt to stop the brewing incursion threatening Earth, and rescue Vice Foreign Minister Relena Darlian, who was kidnapped by a terrorist faction – remnants of White Fang – threatening to carry out the original Operation Meteor. That was one Hell of a trip. A final, epic, mission... followed by a heartless goodbye.

They never made it out X-18999 together. Last he had seen Heero standing on his own two feet they were standing in X-18999's Command Information Center after stopping the colony's decent to Earth. The young Wing-ZERO pilot had then punched him in the stomach brutally, rendering him unconscious so he won't become a liability as he ran off to rescue _her_.

But before all that, for a few precious hours on that shuttle headed for L3, Heero was all his... with nowhere to run. If he had known that it would be the last quiet moment he would ever get to spend with Heero, he would have passed the time differently, not just stared out the window, daydreaming, while the autopilot was in control and Heero slept at the helm. He recalled that he did try to say something – it was too long ago to remember what exactly – but those words were also left unsaid the moment he noticed that Heero was asleep. He didn't have the heart to wake him and simply settled for the guilty pleasure of gazing upon the rare sight of Heero's lax features... almost innocent in sleep.

He remembered thinking that Heero was beautiful. He remembered thinking that once their latest ordeal would be over they will have all the time in the world to say all sort of things to one another. He remembered thinking that if Heero was taking him along to rescue Relena then there was no more need to fear that he will be running off to her once everything was over. And he remembered the heart-shattering punch to his gut the moment Heero decided to leave him behind and take off on his own. He had collapsed into Heero's sturdy arms, his heart crumbling to pieces on the floor of X-18999's CIC. As his world faded to black and Heero's distant voice whispered something in his ear, he knew that nothing Heero said would ever matter... Relena had won.

Duo heaved a long, miserable, sigh and finally tore his gaze away from the window. He reached a hand into his jeans' pocket and pulled out his cellphone. The device was working on flight-mode. He entered the contact list and scrolled down to the name _'N/A'_. He pressed _'edit'_ and changed the name to _'Heero'_. He hit _'save'_.

* * *

><p><strong>Reminder: <strong>I'm only posting chapters 1-8. Chapters 9-18 are rated MA and hence no longer suitable for this archive. As I've mentioned before, you can find the complete story (all 18 chapters) on the AO3 archive (just follow the link on my profile page. You can also download the eBook).

Elle


	6. Chapter 6: MO

**Reminder: **I'm only posting chapters 1-8. Chapters 9-18 are rated MA and hence no longer suitable for this archive. As I've mentioned before, you can find the complete story (all 18 chapters) on the AO3 archive (just follow the link on my profile page. You can also download the eBook).

Elle

**Warning: This part is rated M.**

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 06: MO<strong>

Thirteen hours later and after a decent enough sleep, Duo stepped off the space shuttle and onto the Moon Spaceport's platform, carrying a small and tattered duffle bag. He headed tiredly towards the connecting-flight terminal. A shuttle will be leaving the moon for Earth in about two hours and would only arrive to his destination in about twenty more hours or so. By the time he'd make it to New York, it might already be too late. That was why he hated flying commercial. Back in the day he would have been able to make the trip in half the time; one of the few perks of having a whole militia backing you up.

Dressed casually in blue jeans and a black leather jacket, Duo could have blended easily with the hordes of people moving through the massive spaceport, if not for his unusually long braid. Tired and troubled as he was, it never even occurred to him that he was being followed. Two men were tailing him within the crowd; burly and grave-looking individuals dressed in black suits were following the swinging motion of his braid in a dangerous game of tag. As Duo turned towards the elevators, one of them quickened his pace to catch up, flung a hand forward and grabbed Duo by the shoulder, stopping him before he entered the crowded elevator.

Duo halted immediately and whirled back around, scowling warily.

"What da fuck man!" he exclaimed tensely.

"Mister Maxwell," the one who had grabbed him by the shoulder said; "I apologize for startling you, but I need you to come with us."

"Da Hell I will!" he called and recoiled two steps away, taking an offensive stance.

The man sighed and reached into his blazer. Duo tensed; fists and jaw clenching. The man pulled out a badge and presented it to him. Duo relaxed. It was a Secret Service badge.

"We have a private shuttle waiting for you," the agent said; "You'll be in New York in less than eight hours."

Duo frowned, studying the badge for a moment longer before handing it back to the agent.

"And to whom do I owe this pleasure?" he asked gruffly.

"She said you'd know," the agent replied cryptically. "Now, sir, if you you'll follow us..." he gestured at the other way, where the second agent was waiting.

"We haven't much time."

Duo sighed. "Sure," he muttered, hoisting his duffle over his shoulder; "let's put the tax-payer's money to some good use..."

* * *

><p>Exhausted and disheveled after a long commute, Duo stepped out of the backseat of a black SUV parked in front of Preventer's NYC Field Office. He was escorted by the same two secret service agents he had met on the moon. They stood next to him, one on each side, and walked into the building. His foot tapped restlessly on the elevator floor as it made its way up to the eleventh story, the Criminal Investigation Division, where he was shown to a small briefing room at the end of a long gray hallway. There, seated by a long meeting-room table, was ESUN's senator Relena Darlian, and a young redheaded Preventer agent Duo recognized from TV. She was the first to get up and greet him, reaching a hand forward.<p>

"Detective Maxwell," she welcomed him; "Thank you for coming all this way."

Duo shook her hand halfheartedly, his glaring cobalt eyes fixed on Relena the whole time.

"Sure," he mumbled and pulled out a chair. He settled into it tiredly, fluffing his long bangs up and heaving a weary sigh. "I'm gonna need some coffee. Black. Strong."

Agent Shaw nodded. "Of course," she said and walked to the door; "I'll be right back."

A tense silence fell over the small meeting room. Duo and Relena remained seated at opposite sides of the table and did their best to avoid each other's eyes while still trying to steal curious glances at one another. Last they had seen each other they were still teenagers. Now adults, they had both grown taller, their facial features were harsher and the look in their eyes has darkened considerably. One quick glance was enough to determine that she was no longer the prissy blonde girl he had always taken her for, and he was no longer the smirking God of Death hiding behind the deceitful mask of a court jester.

Their eyes accidently met and they both realized that they've been caught staring. They hurried to look away. Duo cast his gaze down to his hands, fiddling with his fingers.

"Guess I should thank you for that shuttle," he mumbled somberly.

"There's no need," she replied evenly; "I didn't do it for you."

He nodded, his eyes miserable. "Yeah... I know."

Agent Shaw returned to the room, carrying two steaming paper coffee cups. She handed one to Duo – coffee, black – and the other to Relena – coffee, with cream. She then took a seat in a chair situated midway between the two of them and crossed her hands, fingers entwined, over the table.

"I suppose I should start from the beginning," she said, sighing.

"You may begin by telling us what we're both doing here," Relena suggested firmly; her tone leaving little room for objection. "How does any of this help Heero?" she demanded; "You should be out there looking for him instead of talking to us."

Shaw felt their demanding eyes on her and bowed her head down sorrowfully. "We wouldn't even know where to start," she mumbled; "You saw for yourself, Senator, the Unsub removed the tracking device we implanted... there's no telling where he is. Right now, gathering you both here is our best chance."

"Wow, wow, back it down a little, will ya?" Duo interjected heatedly; "How about you fill me in on a few things first?"

Shaw nodded. "Of course," she agreed; "I think it would be best if I just told the whole thing," she offered, looking up at Relena for consent.

Relena nodded, giving her the go-ahead.

Merida inhaled deeply and began filling them in:

"You must have heard about the Unsub everyone calls the Redeemer," she said and they both nodded to confirm.

"He started killing about three months ago," Shaw continued; "The diverse victimology made it extremely difficult for NYPD to catch him. It was impossible to tell where he would strike next or what kind of victim he will be after. There was no indication of sexual assault, but the torture was clearly sadistic. The lack of sexual preferences also made it hard to determine if the Unsub is male or female... but since female serial killers typically stick to the same MO and victimology, we are fairly certain that he's a man.

"His ritual was always the same. He kidnapped someone with no witnesses, even though they were all taken from public places. He tortured his victims and then forced them to call a loved one to say goodbye. He killed them with a gunshot to the head and dumped their bodies where their loved ones will be sure to find them, always putting a blindfold over their eyes. You see, it's not enough that he tortures them. He has to extend the pain and suffering to their loved ones as well as a way to display complete control and dominance over his victims. His goal is to terrorize and to make a statement. He has captured the public's fear and imagination. The media was having a field day."

"No shit," Duo muttered, leaning back in his seat. He reached for his coffee. "It's all people talk about up there." He gestured with his eyes up at the ceiling and raised the hot beverage. "News of _trouble in paradise_ get real popular in space," he snarled and sipped some black coffee.

Shaw ignored his nasty comment. "The blindfold had the cops puzzled at first," she resumed her explanation; "It was initially assumed that the killer felt some degree of remorse, that he didn't want the victims to see him when he executed them, but that profile changed as soon as Preventer stepped in and the BAU had a look at the case. Their conclusions put the investigation on a different track," she paused for a moment, letting it all sink in, and continued:

"The Unsub is killing in a major urban setting, which indicates high intelligence. This is _not_ a random killing spree. Since he hunts at night, it means that he must have a steady day job. His attacks are well organized. He picks the kidnapping location beforehand... stalks his victims and waits for the right time to make his move. Everything is too controlled to be a random blitz attack. He picks his victims for a reason... one I only became aware of recently... when Heero was taken."

"You're talking about what happened in DC," Duo deduced easily. Both Shaw and Relena turned to look at him, stunned.

"You know about that?" the redheaded agent marveled and Duo's face hardened into an offensive glare.

"The son-of-a-bitch wanted me to," he revealed; "He's been laying the grounds for whatever game he's planning for quite a while."

"You mean he's contacted you?" Shaw asked warily

Duo nodded. "Yeah. Been nagging me for a while now... I just couldn't figure out who or why."

"But he sent the package to me," Relena finally spoke up, confused.

Duo turned to her. "What package?"

The young senator sighed and cast her gaze down. "Heero's clothes," she said sadly; "A UPS courier delivered them to my home yesterday. That's how I knew..."

Shaw nodded uneasily. "Those were the clothes he was wearing the night he was taken," she elaborated; "The Unsub was trying to get you both down here before I even noticed anything was wrong." She cast her eyes down shamefully. "Heero has developed a bad habit of showing up late... he was having trouble sleeping. I didn't figure out he was missing until I tried to call him the next afternoon. The Unsub could have taken him anywhere by then."

A long, tense silence fell over the small meeting room. Relena finally turned to drink her coffee, her gaze fixed on a vague distant point ahead. Duo tapped his fingers impatiently on the table.

"This is a game," he finally broke the edgy stillness. "He's fucking with us... why?"

"It's hard to say," Agent Shaw replied; "His MO has changed... He hasn't been following the same ritual when it comes to Heero."

"Does this have anything to do with what happened in 202?" Relena asked and placed her beverage back on the table.

"It would seem so." Shaw said and looked up at the young senator. "I suppose that it would be redundant to fill you in on the DC details," she deduced.

"I probably know more than you do," Relena agreed with a weary sigh. "God... how come I didn't see it sooner?" she mumbled, starting sadly at the table. "I should have..." she heaved another miserable, helpless sigh, shaking her head sadly; "Why else would he torture himself over this one particular case..."

"I thought that whole damn thing was top-secret," Duo intervened.

Agent Shaw nodded to confirm. "It is," she said; "which is why it took us so long to connect the dots. It wasn't until we started to suspect that we could be dealing with someone on the inside that some of the details about the DC Incident were finally revealed to the investigation team."

"You thought it was a cop," Duo accused, scoffing insolently; "NYPD... you were tagging them, weren't you?"

"At first," Shaw confirmed; "The BAU's profile suggested that the Unsub is someone overworked, undervalued, underpaid... used to being unnoticed and most likely a victim of a violent crime himself, or someone close to him fell victim to such a crime. He blindfolds his victims' corpse to send a message – he is indicating Lady Justice. We couldn't rule out the possibility that he's a cop... or even one of our own."

"Someone who found out what happened in DC?" Relena tried to clarify.

Shaw turned to her, nodding her head. "He was blaming us for the cover-up, but at the same time his use of the Lady Justice imagery helped to confirm that we are most likely dealing with someone who works in or around the criminal-justice system," she elaborated; "Whoever he is, this killer has convinced himself that he has a mission, a high purpose – he will expose the truth. He has developed an inflated sense of duty and assigned himself a personal mission to take justice into his own hands. He got more confident with each kill, moving onto higher profile victims, growing up to a climax. He started choosing his victims out of our ranks... like punishment. He seeks retribution on the victims' behalf and to finally get some recognition for his actions."

"That's why he forces his victims to call a loved one..." Relena realized with horror; "He's giving them the chance to say goodbye... unlike the hostages who died in DC."

"It would seem so, yes," Agent Shaw agreed. "As it turned out, there were distinct similarities not only between the victims of both tragedies, but we also in the messages the Redeemer's victims were forced to make before they were killed. A close study of their choice of words suggested that they weren't their own, some of it was scripted. They were forced to repeat the same words the DC victims said on the countdown video they had to make one hour before their execution. None of the videos the terrorists broadcasted to Preventer ever made it to the families. No one was supposed to know. That rang some alarm bells. It was obvious that we were dealing with an insider. The Unsub wanted Preventer to notice his sick homage. He's playing with us. We suspect that he won't stop until he reached eleven victims and then who knows what other missions he will take upon himself."

"But why is he so focused on what happened in DC?" Relena inquired.

"Yeah," Duo agreed; "It's not like there ain't plenty of other tragedies to choose from..."

"It's hard to say," the redheaded agent explained. "An Unsub kills to satisfy a deep inner need... sometimes the need driving him is a mystery even to the Unsub himself. Such a killer won't stop until that need – which is based on a certain ritual – will be lived out perfectly. But reality never lives up to fantasy, especially when he's unclear about what that need is exactly, so it's practically impossible to fulfill that need."

"That's where Heero came in," Duo reasoned and Shaw nodded to verify his guess.

"As the only living survivor of the DC Incident, he was the perfect bait, a real part of the fantasy the Unsub is reenacting. We tried to lure him away from an accurate reenactment of all eleven killings by offering him the grand prize, the real thing. Heero was put on the case and we made sure that he will always be in the background, just enough to catch the killer's eye. We even tried to provide the ground for the whole ritual, providing a significant other – me. Heero and I pretended to be together for about two months now. We made stalking us easy. We were hoping that it would lure the Unsub to make a quick move, make a mistake while trying to grab his prize. We wanted to give him an offer he couldn't refuse..."

"And it blew up in your fucking face!" Duo grunted furiously. "Your fancy plan didn't factor in that Heero might actually get caught!?"

"We took precautions," Agent Shaw assured him, though her voice lacked confidence; "including implanting a small dental chip so we could track him down quickly in case the worse happened..."

"But none of it worked," Duo hissed.

Shaw lowered her gaze down shamefully. "Heero is a very capable agent," she murmured; "Usually, he wouldn't have had a problem defending himself, but..."

"But?" Relena demanded harshly.

Shaw heaved a miserable sigh. "He hasn't quite been himself lately," she said; "He admitted his unusual behavior on a few occasions, but none of it seemed significant at the time..."

"What do you mean he wasn't himself?" Relena asked worriedly.

"The case was affecting him, big time. He was having a hard time coping. Heero insisted that he was fine, but I could tell. He got negligent, moody... sometimes clumsy. He never complained about anything and there was a lot of pressure to keep him on active duty even if he wasn't mentally fit to handle it anymore." She sighed. "We went out the night he was taken. He was acting... strange. He claimed that we were being stalked, but I didn't believe him. I didn't see anything suspicious... I thought it was just the alcohol talking..." she shook her head sadly; "His judgment was clearly impaired," she stated cautiously, looking up to meet Relena's harsh eyes. "I told him to go home and sleep it off. I left him all alone out there... He was in no condition to retaliate."

A long, angry, silence fell.

"Why did you call us both here?" Relena finally asked, slumping tiredly into her seat. She rubbed the bridge of her nose, sighing. Duo also leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest, still glaring angrily at Shaw.

"Our profilers are certain that the Redeemer's MO will not be the same when it comes to Heero," the agent explained; "The Unsub has been building up to this climax and now it's finally at hand. As the only significant people in Heero's life, he is going to keep playing with you, maybe even finally make a claim. He might try to get the media involved. He believes he is doing the victims of the original tragedy justice. They never got to say their goodbyes because of the cover-up. In his own sick and twisted way, he is trying to get their messages across. He might try to play Heero's kidnapping in that favor..."

"Heero never... never tried to say goodbye," Relena mumbled shakily and raised her arms up, hugging herself as though suddenly cold. Duo grimaced and looked the other way; haunted by images of the video he had been shown.

"I know," Shaw said; "I've read the file. They used him as their liaison."

"They demanded the release of eight hundred and forty-seven convicted terrorists," Relena said, staring numbly at the table. "It was a sacrifice no one was willing to make." She looked up at Shaw, her blue eyes haunted.

"Did you ever see what happens in countries like Israel when they release prisoners back into their homeland? The backlash is enormous. But even with public opinion aside, the security consequences were far too grave to even consider. We let those eleven people die. We had no choice... a cover-up was necessary. If people found out that we just stood idly by while ESUN citizens were being butchered... it would have been a disaster."

"But Heero made it," Duo pointed out; "With your daughter."

Relena nodded silently, avoiding his ruthless eyes. "They used him against me," she muttered under her breath. "They were threatening my daughter and the man I loved... I had to do something."

"You went _rogue_?" Duo gaped at her, stunned.

Relena kept her eyes down. "I sent in one agent... just one," she said and tears flooded her eyes; "The only one capable of stopping them... the only one who would be willing to fight for my family."

"Zechs," Duo realized, amazed; "You sent your brother in there."

Relena sniffled quietly and wiped away her tears. "Zechs used to be their leader... as much as he tries to put that behind him, that's still a fact. That placed him in a unique position... one no other agent could possibly fulfill. He went behind Preventer's back and extracted Heero and Elizabeth out of there before time was up. He was kicked out of the bureau for what he did. There was only so much Preventer was willing to overlook when it came to him. Une saw to it herself."

"God..." Duo exhaled, overwhelmed; "That's fucked up."

"He was only saving lives..." Shaw mumbled, also awed.

"No," Relena disagreed harshly and finally lifted her gaze off the table. "He was saving two particular lives," she corrected. "Zechs never would have managed or even tried to save all thirteen hostages. I knew that, and frankly, at the time... I didn't care. It was a deliberate and selective rescue – highly unacceptable. Zechs took the fall for me... claiming that he had acted on his own accord to save his nieces' life. They had to let him go for serious misconduct."

"And how is Zechs doin' these days?" Duo asked sternly, glaring at Relena. The young senator glowered back just as intensely.

"You're not seriously suggesting that my brother is behind this, are you?!" she demanded angrily.

"He certainly has a reason to hold a grudge," Duo pointed out.

"My brother is a lot of things, but he is not a psychotic serial killer," Relena hissed dangerously. "I won't hear of it, you hear?"

The silence returned to the small room; tense and angry. For a while, no one said a word, until Duo who broke the heavy silence:

"So... now what?" he asked, leaning forward on the table to get a good hard look at Shaw. "You brought us all the way here for a reason, right?"

"Uh... yes," Shaw mumbled, still quite shaken. "It's pretty obvious now that the Unsub hasn't bought our little charade... he knows I don't really mean anything to Heero. It's safe to assume that he will call one of you sooner or later. Our tech-team will put a wireless trace on your phones. Hopefully, we'd be able to trace the call to Heero's location."

"So we wait," Duo sighed and slumped back into the chair. "Great."

"We've set you up with a hotel room not far from here. We'll keep an active trace on your mobile phones the whole time, so keep in mind that someone is always listening when you talk. The second that bastard calls, we'll get him."

"You better," Relena warned and stood up swiftly, pushing her chair back. "Fail Heero one more time and I will personally see to it that you never work anywhere on Earth again," she threatened, turned on her heels and circled the table, heading for the door.

Duo glared angrily at Shaw for another tense moment, before he too rose from his chair and left the room.

He caught up with Relena further down the hall.

"Your daughter made it out of there," he stated quietly and she stopped, turning around to face him. Her face was pale as she waited for him to continue. Duo found that he was having a hard time looking her in the eye. There was so much hurt there... such grief. He shifted his weight uncomfortably.

"That bastard, he... I mean... he showed me..." he sighed, shaking his head, rephrasing; "He sent me this file... It said that Heero has lost a child."

Relena studied him mutely for a moment, her expression stony. "He has," she finally confirmed; "...we have," she corrected, sighing. "Two years ago. It was after the incident," she added mournfully. "It wasn't Heero's fault."

That said, she turned back around and headed for the elevator.

Duo stayed behind, paralyzed by grief. He couldn't breathe, suffocated by a heavy sense of angst. Heero had gone through all that shit... only to lose his daughter anyway. It was beyond heartbreaking. He could actually feel eight years of solid resentment dissipate slowly, no longer blocking his chest as it was melted away by warm, heart-wrenching sympathy. Hurt and betrayal gone, right now, all he wanted was to find Heero... and embrace him.

* * *

><p>It was dark, and cold. He was naked... numb all over and drowsy; he's been drugged. Thick and tight leather straps held his limbs down, biting into his ankles and wrists. He was laid on a deeply reclining chair, much like at the dentist, tilted backward so he was nearly lying flat on his back. He could feel something plastered over his forehead, chest and limbs; it felt much like the EKG electrodes a nurse had attached to his torso at the hospital. He could feel the adhesive tape and lead wires scuff his cold skin.<p>

Panic pierced his heart. The palpitations caused the floodgates in his mind to burst wide open and a tsunami of horrors washed over him at once; ghastly memories of torturous hours he had spent tied against his will to a similar apparatus; pricked, violated and prodded by a madman determined to shape him into the perfect fighting machine. His breathing became quickened, his palms began to sweat and anxiety kicked in. He writhed helplessly in his bonds; small, quiet and distressed moans escaping his parched lips. His mind was hazed; he wasn't even aware of the pathetic sounds he was making. The only thing his mind registered was the sharp, pulsating pain throbbing in his mouth where his molar tooth had been extracted. The entire lower left side of his face was badly swollen, abused flesh inflamed.

Somewhere further into the dark room, a door was opened. He could hear the hinges creak quietly. His breath hitched in his throat and he stilled. Someone was approaching.

He could only move his head, so he looked around anxiously, searching the darkness for his captor. A figure was moving in the shadows, slowly walking towards him. He couldn't make out its features, but the silhouette clearly belonged to a man.

A hand reached up into the blackness overhead, switching something on. Harsh, bright light suddenly projected from directly above him, hurting his eyes. He groaned in pain, clenching his eyes shut and turning his head away from the dental-chair-light raining mercilessly from above.

There was some clanking noises; the sound of medical instruments rattling softly. Cold fingers touched his restrained upper arm. He jerked, startled and afraid. The fear was uncanny; he had never felt so vulnerable in his life. He had been trained to handle it better, but none of the things he had been taught seemed to work anymore. His heart was too weak; defeated by burdens he could no longer bear.

He squinted against the bright assault and turned his head in the direction of the sound. He couldn't see the face of the man towering over him – the projector hid his head from sight – but he could see his hands. They were prepping a syringe, filling it with pinkish-clear liquid from a small vial. The needle gleamed under the harsh white light as it was raised up and some of the liquid was squirted out, testing the needle.

The man finally leaned down, lowering his head beneath the powerful lamp. Heero's face paled drastically and his eyes widened in fright, filled with affrighted recognition. He gasped, mortified by the face he saw.

The man placed the syringe back on the instruments tray. He picked up a chunky, rubber mouth-guard and turned back to Heero.

"Usually people consume this in its crystal form," he spoke to him with a low, eerily calm voice; "But I've prepared a real treat for you... a real... _magic potion_..." he added in dark amusement as he slipped the gag into Heero's mouth, to which he responded with sickly retching. The invasive object brushed against the sore, inflamed flesh from which his molar tooth had been extracted sloppily. Sharp pain flared up, sending vicious spiking tentacles into his left cheek and jaw. He groaned and clenched his eyes tight, hurting.

"Better than any drug you've been prescribed so far," the man continued smugly, ignoring his pain, and reached for the syringe. He placed the needle against Heero's bare upper arm, pricking the skin.

"It should help get us started," he promised, and the needle plunged in.

Heero thrashed in his bonds, muffling helpless sounds of distress through the gag, but to no avail. He could feel the icy liquid surging through his veins, spreading rapidly with each frantic heartbeat. Seconds later, he stilled, his body slumping lifelessly, sinking into the reclined chair. His head lolled limply to the side. His blue eyes glazed over; they stared lifelessly ahead, dull and oblivious.

The man turned back to the instruments tray. He reached a hand forward to pull another medical-supply cart closer to the chair. A device rested on top of it; a small rectangular machine bearing various dials, switches and meters. He turned a dial up and the machine came to life, humming and buzzing as voltage flowed in. The dial-meter needle traveled up. The man adjusted a few dials and then flicked on another switch.

On the chair, Heero's body jerked up violently, completely rigid. High electric currents coursed through his body, resulting in intense convulsions. His hands trembled wildly in their restraints, fingers twitching. His mouth clenched tightly around the mouth-guard. A grimacing, tortured expression twisted his pale and stubbly face. He screamed, but the anguished shriek was swallowed by the gag in his mouth.

* * *

><p>The Holiday Inn NY-Soho was just a few blocks away from the Federal Plaza; a mere five-minute walk from Preventer's NYC office. Past midnight, the hotel lobby was dim, silent and empty. Christmas Eve was three days away and the lobby was decorated for the holiday. Only a night clerk worked the reception desk and a weary-looking middle-aged bartender manned the small hotel bar at the far end of the foyer. Slow and quiet music played in the background; mellow Christmas tunes filling the nightly silence with nostalgic melodies.<p>

Duo sat hunched over the bar, his black leather jacket hanging from the bar-chair. He held a glass of whiskey on the rocks in one hand and a burning cigarette in the other. An open pack of Winston Blue and a lighter rested next to an ashtray in front of him on the bar. He raised his drink for a sip and then took a drag on his smoke, staring ahead broodingly.

The bartender had repeatedly asked him not to smoke in the lobby, but he had sent him such a vicious glare that the older man finally gave up and resumed polishing glasses quietly, sending him annoyed glances every now and then. Duo couldn't possibly care less.

His cellphone was also placed right in front of him. He hadn't let it out of his sight since Preventer put a trace on the small device. He had set the ringing on extra-loud and vibrate-mode, so he won't miss a call. He also carried his charger with him in his pocket, just in case. It has been two days since Heero was taken, seven hours since Duo arrived to New York, and not one phone call. Waiting was hard, but it was all he could do. He couldn't eat, couldn't sleep and he couldn't stop thinking. He had tossed and turned in bed for two hours, unable to escape the memory of the aghast look on Heero's battered and bloody face when that little African toddler was shot in the video, or the way Heero's bare, trembling and blood-clotted arms clung to his little girl as for dear life... so he drank.

Duo finished his drink with a swift gulp, slammed the bulky glass on the bar and signaled the barman for another one. The man sighed irately, grabbed a bottle of Jameson Whiskey, and poured the young braided man another round. Duo watched the golden liquid flood the wide glass, while taking a few more puffs on his cigarette; a distant, reminiscent, look shone sadly in his cobalt eyes.

Of all people, it was Heero who had first introduced him to the renowned Irish whiskey. He had claimed that Jameson was the only kind of liquor he could stomach; that it didn't make him lose control and just... felt good. They were pretty damn drunk when Heero made that confession, so it wasn't so surprising that he had made an exception and volunteered such personal information. He said that he had first tried it when he arrived on Earth; that he had found a bottle in a car he had stolen out of necessity, and used the alcohol to disinfect some injuries after a particularly bloody mission. He then drank the rest to fight off the terrible cold while he waited holed up in that car, hidden in some God forsaken Hellhole until OZ cleared the area. Since then he had made a nasty habit out of stashing a small bottle in Wing's cockpit... just in case.

They ended up drinking it together the night after they blew up the naval base next to St. Gabriel's Boarding School. They turned the mission into a competition to see who could get there first and do the most damage. It was an egoistic challenge to see whose Gundam was superior; a childish game between two boys with too much fire power in their adolescent hands. He had gotten there first, but Heero had won the competition anyway, God damn him. He blew the fucking gas tanks at the center of the base and blew the whole damn place into kingdom's come all under five minutes. He then left the battlefield in an arrogant display of flight capabilities, leaving Duo behind, cussing and shouting at the unfairness of it all.

Such stupid kids they were... and they thought themselves professionals! Boys will be boys – Gundam pilots or no Gundam pilots.

They got back to their dorm room all pumped-up from the fight. The adrenaline, friendly rivalry, alcohol and way too much testosterone coursing through them caused one thing to lead to another and... It was the first time they slept together. Scratch that – they fucked like there was no tomorrow. It was hot, messy, violent and fervent... far too intense to be described in mere words. After that memorable first night, Duo made sure he kept a small bottle of Jameson in his cockpit too... in case he ever ran into Heero again.

"Trouble sleeping?" a soft female voice tore Duo from his reminiscing. He looked up, meeting Relena's sad blue eyes. The young woman was standing next to his bar chair, dressed casually in bright blue skinny jeans and a large, black sweatshirt. Her long blonde hair was undone, falling gracelessly and flatly around her head. She had no make-up on; her features pale, tired and sad. Duo realized that he had never seen her look so plain; for once out of her formal wear. She almost looked like anyone; almost... because she will never be just _anyone_. She will always be _Heero's girl_.

"Yeah," he rasped gruffly, scanned her up-and-down and finally turned to take another sip of whiskey, staring ahead at the abundant display of liquor bottles behind the bar instead of facing her. "You too?" he asked the obvious, though not really interested.

She nodded quietly and took a seat next to him. She motioned the bartender to approach and asked for a glass of Jameson on the rocks as well. Duo turned to gape at her, surprised. A hidden smile hovered over her pale lips; she gave him this look, as though telling him that he shouldn't be so shocked by her preference. She took a small sip from her beverage and placed it neatly on a coaster.

"You're not the only one he used to drink this with," she said, gazing ahead to avoid his prying eyes.

"Figures," Duo muttered, rolling his eyes. He raised his glass up for another sip. The two sat in silence, drinking and brooding quietly. Placing her empty glass down, Relena ran a French-manicured finger over the rim, staring down at the melting ice with a pair of pensive blue eyes. Duo finished his first smoke and reached to take another cigarette out of the box. He lit it up, took a long drag and released the smoke in a long huff, raising his head up and creating small rings. He watched with sad eyes as they dissipated slowly into the air... disappearing. He tried to recall if he had ever spent more than a second alone with _her_, but nothing came up, other than that time at the hospital in Brussels, outside the ICU, when he told her that Heero was all hers to deal with from then on. But now here they were, sitting side by side and tolerating each other... for his sake.

"I was thinking about taking a ride," Relena finally said. She turned in her chair, facing him, and for a moment he froze, taken aback by the familiar ferocity burning in her blue eyes. God damn it, they were the same as Heero's: sharp, potent and intense... irresistibly persuasive. Fuck. For a split of a second, Duo almost thought he knew what Heero must have seen in her. She was a force to be reckoned with, no doubt about it; now more than ever. He sighed and looked the other way, returning his attention to his drink. He resumed smoking, deliberately ignoring her.

"Right now... there's only one place I can be," she continued nonetheless; "You're welcomed to join me."

Duo took the cigarette out of his mouth and looked up, frowning. The bitch was being nice to him... it was unsettling.

She offered him a sad little smile. "It sure beats sitting here waiting for that call," she reasoned and hopped off the bar chair. She moved away, heading out of the lobby without waiting for his answer. Duo shoved the burning butt between his pressed lips, got up, snatched his cellphone from the bar and his jacket off the chair, and hurried to join her.

Two of Relena's bodyguards were waiting outside when she and Duo stepped out of the hotel. A black executive's car was parked at the front, its engine running. One of the men-in-black opened the back door for them and they entered the vehicle. He closed the door behind them.

It was a short ride before the car arrived at an East Village neighborhood and finally pulled to a stop before a ten-stories-high tenement building, one of many like it in the old residential area. Relena was the first to step out of the car. Duo remained seated for a moment longer, staring out the window at the enormous building. It hardly looked like slums, but the crowded urban blocks still reminded him of home.

A black SUV was parked in front of the building. When Duo stepped out of the car, he saw Relena standing next to it, the palm of her hand spread over the engine hood and he knew – it was Heero's car. The young woman gazed at it wistfully for a moment, before moving her hand away slowly, almost caressing the vehicle. She turned towards the small stairwell leading into the building and one bodyguard prepared to follow her. She raised a hand up, signaling him to stop.

"Wait here," she said; "I'm in good hands," she gestured at Duo with her head. The secret service agent turned to study Duo with a stony face, but Duo ignored him. He followed Relena into the building.

They took the elevator to the tenth floor, riding it in silence. Once the doors opened he followed her down the hall, to the apartment at the end overlooking the street. Relena pulled out a key from her jeans' pocket.

"Come here often?" Duo asked bitterly as he watched her slide it into the lock.

"Every couple of months," she said and opened the door; "Making sure he's doing alright," she added quietly and entered the apartment. He followed her in. Relena flicked on a light and headed to the kitchen. Duo stood for a moment by the door, looking around.

It was a small and modest residence; dark hardwood flooring, naked white walls and scarce furniture – only the bare necessities. A pillow and blanket were left in a messy pile on the sofa; otherwise, the apartment was immaculately tidy. A trail of footmarks stained the polished dark wood floor, leading from the front door to the kitchen; traces of wet boots no one had bothered to wipe before entering... traces of Heero. Duo stared at the stains, a chill gripping his heart.

"Would you like something warm to drink?" Relena called from the kitchen and Duo finally looked up, snapped out of his sad daze. He turned to close the door and joined her in the kitchen. He spotted three orange prescription bottles standing on the countertop by the sink right in front of him when he entered the small kitchen, along with a half-empty glass of water. A black concealed carry-holster was laid next to it. As he walked in further he saw Heero's Preventer jacket hanging from the back of a kitchen chair; one of two chairs standing by a small kitchen table. He couldn't tear his eyes off it. A shiver ran up and down his spine and he grimaced, aggrieved. The place felt strangely haunted; filled with ghostly reminders of its missing occupant.

Relena placed an electric kettle under the tap and filled it with water. She set it back down on the worktop, switched it on and then opened a cupboard overhead to fetch two mugs. Duo noted that there were only about four mugs in total, next to three small bowls of cereal and a few other scarce dishes; the cupboard was rather empty... it reminded him of his own kitchen. He only kept a couple of dishes from each item, just enough to feed himself and Tomás. He hoped the little rascal was doing okay. He had left him a key to his place and made sure to stock up the fridge before he left L2.

Relena opened a second cupboard, one that contained some coffee, tea and sugar, and then reached for a bottom drawer to take out a teaspoon. Duo noted bitterly that she clearly knew her way around that kitchen, feeling at home as she proceeded in making two cups of coffee. God that hurt to watch. He realized with great dismay that Relena was very familiar with all those little plain things he had always wanted to uncover; small and simple sides of Heero she had gotten to know over their years together, while he was away, simmering with hurt and resentment over what might have been if not for her.

Duo finally stepped into the kitchen. He spotted an open Chinese takeout box by the microwave oven. He picked it up, took a quick sniff, winced at the unpleasant smell of rotten food and put it away. The leftovers at the bottom have been sitting there for quite some time. He turned to the sink and picked one of the prescription bottles standing next to it. He skimmed over one label: it was antianxiety medication, prescribed to Heero by a Dr. Sloan. Duo was familiar with the popular brand. It was one he had begged his shrink to prescribe him with after Joe died, but she refused because of relative contraindication [[i]] with the other medication he was already on. Some big help she was...

Duo sighed and placed the bottle back down.

"You take sugar?" Relena asked as she prepared a mug of black coffee. He was surprised that she had bothered noting how he drank his coffee. He wondered if Heero drank it the same way.

"Nah, thanks," he said; "Bitter is more my thing."

She nodded, hiding a smile, and handed him his beverage. She then turned to make her own cup of coffee, walking to the fridge to get some milk. Duo took a sip, winced at the hot stinging on his tongue, and placed the mug back on the countertop. He reached into his black leather jacket's pocket and pulled out his smokes. After taking out a cigarette from the pack, he noticed that his lighter wasn't in there. He searched all of his pockets, but came up empty. He must have forgotten it on the bar.

"Here," Relena said and opened a second drawer, the one under to the utensils drawer. It was overflowing with colorful Skittles packets. Duo almost snickered.

"What da Hell?" he exclaimed, stifling a laugh. Relena also smiled, amused but sad, and reached deeply into the drawer, searching for something at the far end.

"He was trying to quit smoking again," she said and pulled out a box of Winston Blue, along with a blue plastic lighter. She handed them to Duo, smiling wistfully.

"Never quite managed to pull it off," she added, her eyes sad despite the smile; "And the candy just kept piling up..."

Duo almost smiled, but his lips felt too heavy to pull it off convincingly. How could he smile when she was the one who knew all those little things instead of him?

He accepted the pack of smokes and lighter quietly. He looked at them for a moment, feeling wretched when he realized that Heero and he smoked the same brand. For some reason, it made him feel even worse than the liking the same brand of whiskey, maybe because it was a habit they had both picked up after the breakup. What were the odds?

He lighted his smoke and placed Heero's lighter in his pocket along with the cigarette box. He then turned to examine the gun holster laying discarded on the countertop. He picked it up, a cigarette in his other hand.

"Looks like he was armed..." he mumbled and raised the cigarette up for a drag; "Maybe he managed to do some damage before..."

"Don't get your hopes up," Relena sighed and walked back to the refrigerator to return the milk. After closing it, she reached up to the top of the fridge, her hand searching the surface blindly for a moment before she retrieved a small firearm. She turned back around and presented it to Duo, her eyes shining miserably.

"He never would have taken it without a holster and you know it," she murmured sadly and handed Duo the gun, sighing.

"Like Shaw said... he wasn't in his right mind."

Duo let go of the holster and accepted the weapon. It felt strange holding something personal of Heero's after so many years.

"How'd you know it was going to be up there?" he asked Relena, frowning. He handed her back the gun.

"I just did..." she heaved with a wretched sigh and turned back to the large appliance and placed the small sidearm back up. She opened the freezer next. Like the cupboard, it was also rather empty. She reached deep inside, searching, and smiled when her fingers finally encountered whatever she's been looking for.

"It's still here," she smiled slightly, relieved, and pulled out a large white chunk of frozen cake. She grabbed a fork from the drawer and served the cake to the kitchen table along with her coffee.

"Want some?" she offered Duo, looking up in question; "Nothing like some comfort food at a time like this." She dug her fork into the frozen pastry, took a forkful and brought it into her mouth, closing her eyes in delight.

"God... I love this cake," she mumbled with her mouth full. She opened her eyes and took another large chunk. "There's this deli down the street... makes the best New York style cheesecake," she told Duo. "Heero can't stand it, says it's too sour, but he always gets one when I'm here." She took another large bite and closed her eyes again, savoring the taste. "God, it's even better frozen..."

Duo remained standing by the kitchen counter, smoking and watching her with hard eyes burning with a low blue flame. He took another puff on his smoke, grabbed his black coffee and joined her at the table, taking a seat in the chair from which Heero's jacket was hanging. He sipped his coffee and smoked quietly while she ate. Minutes passed in brooding silence and avoidance. They didn't have to share their thoughts to tell what the other was thinking. They were both wondering what horrors Heero was being subjected to at that very moment, while they were sitting over coffee.

Duo couldn't bear thinking about it a second longer. He got up, shoving the chair back.

"He's gotta keep some booze lyin' around here somewhere, right?" he muttered and began opening random cupboards.

"Try under the sink," Relena suggested; "he likes to live under the illusion that he's going to chuck it out one day soon."

And indeed, once he opened the cabinet doors under the sink, he found a nearly empty bottle of Jameson, right next to some cleaning products and empty glass bottles waiting to be recycled one day. He snatched the whiskey, two glasses of water from the cupboard overhead and severed them to the table. He poured each of them a drink and they gulped it quickly, straight up.

"Do you fuck?" Duo asked bluntly as he slammed his glass on the table. His voice was raspy, roughened by the burn of liquor.

Relena placed her empty glass down calmly. She took another forkful of cheesecake.

"Sometimes," she answered plainly, raising the fork to her lips. "It doesn't mean anything." She took a bite and added a solemn "I wonder if it ever did..."

Duo reached into his pocket to take his pack of smokes out. He lighted a second cigarette. He was halfway through his second smoke when she spoke up again, digging into the cake.

"We were kids, you know?" she mumbled dolefully. "We thought we weren't, but we were. It was destined to go wrong."

Duo scoffed dismissively. "Yeah, well, eight years later and he still keeps cheesecake in the freezer in case you drop by."

Relena let out a small, bitter, chuckle and took another bite. "He might keep cheesecake in the freezer for me, but he keeps a flame alive for you."

Duo snorted. "Right," he grunted; "You can't really be_ that_ stupid."

"He was fucking you way before he was fucking me, Duo," she informed him evenly, her fierce blue eyes staring him down.

"Sometimes I could swear he thought he was fucking you instead of me..." she mumbled and finally cast her gaze down. She helped herself to some more cake. "He would get... he could be very aggressive sometimes," she whispered quietly, eyes cast down; "I didn't like it."

"Guess he fucked both of us over, then."

Relena looked up, smiling sadly. They shared a knowing look; one that confirmed they both knew that despite of everything they wouldn't have passed on the chance to be with him. It was probably the only mutual understanding they would ever reach. It was time for a truce.

"He never got past you," Relena said, focused on her cake again.

"I find that hard to believe," Duo muttered and used his fingers to tear a small piece of the cake as well, tasting it. Heero was right; it was too sour.

"Why?" Relena asked and pinned his gaze fiercely; "Have you?"

She had him there. Duo cast his eyes down, avoiding her harsh glare so she wouldn't see the obvious answer.

"I know I haven't," she confessed, heaving a despaired sigh. "Even though I know it could never work out, I... I just can't. So we're friends... somehow... when he lets me."

"Yeah, well, he never needed me as friend," Duo huffed sullenly and shook the ashes from the cigarette into his coffee mug. "He never needed me for anything other than a hole to fuck."

"That's not true," she argued decisively.

"Oh yeah? And what do you know about it?"

"Not much," she admitted, shrugging, "But maybe if you would have stuck around long enough after that last battle, you would have been able to find out for yourself."

"I left because of you!" Duo burst, punching the table angrily. "I left because he chose _you!_ So he liked fucking me – big deal! He only did it because I could take it... because I wanted it just as rough as he did... but in the end he always picked you over me! Always! It was always you, Relena, always. He took his shit out on me so he won't haffta fuck you up the way he did to me. He didn't give a shit about me... never was that kinda thoughtful with me... You were his soft spot, and I... I was a fucking punching bag. I guess that woulda been okay if at the end of the day I woulda been the one he really wanted, but I wasn't. He always picked you! He gave me the ugly and he saved the rest just you! All of it!"

"ME?!" she laughed bitterly; "God... Is that a joke?! And you call _me_ stupid?! God, Duo... it was you! Always! I could never give him what he really wanted, what he really needed... Can't you see? He came to me because he wanted to escape who he was when he was with you. That thing you call ugly... he hated it. He feared it... he couldn't handle it. Heero needed me as a leash, not a lover. I could never be you... he could never let go the way he did with you... he was never that... ugly... with me. I was a failsafe, nothing more."

"Oh yeah?! So why didn't he try to stop me when I left?! Why didn't he say something when I gave him the chance?! For once in his fucking life – he shoulda said _something_!"

"God dammit, Duo!" she exploded heatedly; "Is that what it was all about?! You were waiting for him to _say_ something!? Jesus..." She shook her head and took a deep breath, struggling to calm down.

"Maybe he would have tried to say something – maybe," she said, her voice shaking with barely suppressed rage, "but he couldn't even speak... not until a few days later. Temporary aphasia... [[1]] He hurt his head when ZERO crashed. It was bad... but you didn't stick around for the prognosis, did you? You just left with your anger, and your hurt... You walked away with all those things left unsaid... You left him to me, so I took care of him." Her eyes watered; she looked utterly wretched... hurt.

"I was there for him through every step of the way, but it was never enough. I was never enough. Don't you get it? It was always you, Duo. He stayed on Earth to be apart from you. He stayed with me so he won't have to think about you, about who he was when he was with you, but it was always you. He finally left when he realized that I could never be enough. I just don't get it. I don't. I was the one who stuck it out 'til the end... I was the one who held his hand when he... when he fell apart two years ago. Where were you? What did _you _do? What have you _ever_ done except criticize him? You expected things he didn't know how to give! You should have been more patient with him! He... he... he needed your perseverance... not just your God awful temper! Love isn't sex, Duo. There are times when... when being able to take a beating isn't enough. There's more... so much more. I wish you could have both seen it... before it became too late. You could've grown together... you really could have... but you were both too stubborn to let that happen."

A tense, guilty silence fell over the small kitchen. For the longest time, neither said a word, nor did they turn to look at each other. Finally, it was Duo who broke the unconformable silence by clearing his throat. He reached for the nearly empty bottle of Jameson and poured them both another round, just a few drops each, emptying the bottle completely. He raised the glass to his lips, his eyes cast down to the table.

"Sounds like you gave this shit a lotta thought," he said quietly and sipped the rest of the whiskey.

She heaved a long sigh and picked up her glass as well. "Yeah, well, therapy helped..." she muttered and drank some whiskey, leaving just a sip-full more in the glass. "I did a lot of growing up these past few years."

Duo let out a small, bitter, chuckle. "Yeah, sounds like it," he remarked solemnly and placed his empty glass back down. He circled its rim with his finger. "I for one can't stand it... some dickhead tellin' me what I'm feelin' and why... pisses me off." He looked up, offering her an apologetic smile. "Anyhow, I appreciate the insight," he concluded. "It sounds about right. Wish you woulda told me this shit sooner..."

Relena smirked. "Never..." she let out smugly and finished her drink with a quick gulp. She placed the glass back down. "At least not back then," she added solemnly. "I couldn't stand you, Duo... I thought you were a real jerk. I didn't like it that you brought out the worse in Heero," she confessed; "I was young... naïve... I didn't realize how much he needed that outlet. I guess that in retrospect, I was kind of a jerk too."

Duo snorted, rolling his eyes, and the two then shared a knowing smile.

The silence resumed. Duo sat slumped forward and snatched the empty whiskey bottle. He rolled it back and forth on the table absentmindedly. The glass made a rumbling scrapping noise as it was rolled up and down the wooden surface. Relena returned to nibbling on the cake quietly, her eyes following the movement of the bottle as Duo continued playing with it: up and down... up and down... back and forth... until he stopped, placing a hand on top of it to stop its momentum.

"Your kid..." he mumbled, staring numbly at the immobile bottle; "What's the story there?" he dared asking, looking up cautiously to meet her eyes; "Did it... did she help bring you two any closer?"

Relena shook her head and swallowed the cake in her mouth. "Not the way you'd think..." she murmured and leaned back into her seat, raising her arms up to hug herself. She didn't look up from the table as she continued speaking.

"I found out I was pregnant a few weeks after Heero left for the US. I kept the whole thing secret... avoiding the media. I didn't tell him about his daughter until Elizabeth was a year and a half old," she said; "I didn't want him to feel obligated to come back just because of her, you know? I didn't want to be _that_ woman... That would have been unfair."

Duo nodded in agreement.

"It took a while to sink with him, I think," Relena continued; "He didn't know what to make of it. I sent him photos from time to time... but he never asked to see Lizzie in person." she paused, closing her eyes sadly for a moment, before opening them again, keeping her gaze fixed on the table. "To be frank," she resumed quietly, "I hardly saw her myself. I was too focused on my career." She exhaled a miserable sigh and reached a hand under the table and behind her back, aiming for her jeans' back pocket. She pulled out a small black leather wallet – a man's wallet – and held it carefully in both hands as she placed it over the table. Duo watched her mutely, his cobalt eyes focused on the ragged black wallet.

"Shaw gave it to me once the forensics team was done with it," Relena mumbled and opened the wallet. Duo's eyes were immediately drawn to the driver's license inside the ID window – Heero's license. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat and watched Relena sneak a finger under the driver's license, pulling out a small passport-size photo.

"I found this when I..." her voice trailed off with a sigh. She bowed her head down sadly, shook it, took a deep breath and looked back at Duo. She held the small photo gently between two trembling fingers, and showed it to him.

"That's her," she whispered shakily, a tragic smile tugging at the edges of her lips. Duo hesitated a moment before casting his eyes down to look at the small photograph. It was a photo-booth picture of a dark-blonde toddler with deep-blue eyes and rosy cheeks, smiling sweetly at the camera while sitting on the lap of a young brunette.

"Elizabeth was brought up by her nanny... Cassandra," Relena explained quietly and placed the photograph carefully back in its place. "I couldn't be bothered," she added mournfully and tucked Heero's wallet back into her back pocket. "I never wanted to be a mother at twenty, but letting her go was not an option... she was Heero's child. I just... I couldn't. He had already left and I... I just couldn't let her go as well. Call it an adopted child's complex... whatever, I don't know. It was selfish, but she was all I had after he left."

"And then she... You lost her?" Duo asked carefully.

Relena's eyes watered and she hurried to wipe her tears away. She nodded her head.

"Heero had never seen her in person before Christmas 202," she explained, "but then the Peace-Celebrations Committee decided to hold the ceremony in DC that year, so I had an excuse to come over. I brought Lizzie with me. I never gave him the heads-up and just showed up with his daughter... never leaving him the option to bolt," she smiled forlornly; "I pulled some strings and asked in advance that he'd be assigned to my security detail. Manipulative, I know, but I think he was used to it by then. We used to fight about it all the time..." She shook her head, sighing before she digressed any further.

"Anyway, Cassandra, Lizzie's nanny, she took her on a tour of the capital while I worked. Heero was appointed as their escort. I figured that way he could at least spend one day with his daughter under the safe pretense of a guardian. They were all in the wrong place at the wrong time when..." her voice trailed off, fading into sad silence.

"The DC Incident?" Duo whispered the question, encouraging her to go on. Relena nodded a 'yes', her eyes tearing up again.

"Thirteen were taken hostage at the Museum of Natural History..." she mumbled, her voice quaking with suppressed tears; "Cassandra... she was the third to be executed, four hours into the whole mess. By then I was already in the Situation Room at the White House. I saw every single one of the videos those bastards sent us before each execution. I... I thanked God each time there was someone else on that screen instead of Lizzie or Heero... even when Cassie's video started playing I... I was relieved it wasn't them. Terrible, I know..."

"No... not terrible," Duo disagreed softly; "Just human."

She nodded, thankful for his understanding. She inhaled a deep breath, trying to find the strength to continue her tale.

"Heero did whatever he could to ensure Lizzie's survival. I... I feel sick just thinking about it. They... they_ mutilated_ him... did just for the fun of it. His injuries were extensive, but there was not one scratch on her. He protected her against such grim odds... He let them do such awful things to him... He told them anything they wanted to know, kept them talking, made himself valuable enough not to kill... so they won't kill Lizzie. That's why they were the last. By the time Zechs got there... Heero was barely alive. They... they... the abuse was... beyond inhuman. He endured it, just for her sake. Preventer had to update all of their security protocols... They made so many changes because of what he told them... He didn't care. He did everything he could... and then she died on my watch."

She paused for a few dramatic moments, trying to compose herself, before telling the rest of the story:

"I wasn't used to doing it all by myself... never really got the hang of it, and suddenly I was with her alone. All I wanted was to get him some clothes to the hospital, so he'd be more comfortable. It was a long hospitalization and he wasn't going to be home anytime soon, so..." Her voice was shaking; she paused again, trying to calm down. "I went to his place to get some things," she continued; "I turned my back on Elizabeth for one minute, one damn minute, but that was enough. She wandered off to another part of his apartment. For a while it was quiet and then... then I heard the gunshot. She found one of his guns... she played with it and..." Relena's tears overflowed as the guilt overwhelmed her. They streamed silently down her pale cheeks as she finished the story. "She shot herself in the chest... the paramedics couldn't save her."

By that point Duo's eyes were also gleaming with tears. He sniffled and looked the other way, wiping them swiftly even though she could probably see. Relena wiped away her own tears before speaking again.

"Heero couldn't have made it to the funeral... he couldn't possibly have left the hospital yet, so I... I told him after it was over... when he was... when he was a bit better. He was already torn up about the DC Incident and he... he took it hard. Really hard. He... he broke... a total breakdown. It took him months to recover and he... he was never... never really the same afterwards. Something... broke. I broke it... and now it can't be fixed."

Unable to keep the tears at bay any longer, Relena cried, her words drowned by pitiful sobs.

"I'm the one at fault, but he still blames himself. It... he... he... That's why he keeps his gun up there, on the fridge. It's the strangest habit, but he... he regrets leaving it in plain sight that day... so much... and it helps him feel better, somehow... knowing it's out of reach. That's why he forgot it, Duo... He went out there without his gun that night because it was on the _stupid fridge_!" she cried, hurting; "God... that son of a bitch has him and it's all my fault."

Duo was about to open his mouth and say something, but she stopped him before he could get a word in.

"It is, I _know_ it is," she insisted. "It's not fair that he has to torment himself about something I did wrong. How could he have possibly known that a child would be there to find it? It wasn't his fault. I should have been paying more attention to her... I shouldn't have taken her along with me in the first place... but I couldn't let her out of my sight after what happened. She wandered off for less than a minute, I swear, but... but it was enough." She took a deep breath, trying to keep herself from sobbing.

"Sometimes I think he that he _does_ blames me..." she added quietly, bowing her head down in shame; "...but not for her death. He blames me for not taking it as hard as he had. He couldn't move on, but I have..." She looked up at Duo, her eyes shining with a few remaining tears. "It's strange, isn't it? He was only a part of her life for a day and he... he cherishes that day more than I cherished the time I had with her... all the time I could have had if I wasn't so focused on my career."

Duo was speechless, tears blocking his throat. All he could do was look at her while his heart bled with sorrow for Heero and, for the first time ever, for her as well.

"We agreed to visit her grave together each year," she said; "Every Christmas... close to her birthday. She died two weeks after her birthday. She had just turned three..." she sighed sadly; "Heero tried to make it last year, but it was too hard, too soon... he couldn't. This year he's decided to avoid it all together. I was trying to convince him to try again, but he... he said he was working on an important case... that he couldn't. And now... now it turns out that he was willing to play bait in this sick game instead of facing her grave again. God... I wish he hadn't used this case as an excuse... He could have been in DC with me, right now, instead of in the hands of that madman. All those years passed since the war ended and he still... he still thinks his life is something he could just throw away and no one would care. He's convinced that he suffers alone... he has no idea how much I suffer with him."

She looked up, meeting Duo's tearful eyes through anguished eyes of her own.

"He is going to die, Duo," she determined somberly; "He will let that man kill him without ever making that call. After all those years he's still waiting for something to kill him. He... he's determined to die alone and unloved... punished for every possible sin, even mine. He wants that redemption, Duo. He wants what that psycho is going to offer him... and there's nothing I can do about it."

"But you're hoping I can?" Duo realized quietly.

Relena leaned forward, gazing deeply into his eyes. "I broke his heart, Duo..." she whispered shamefully; "I need you to fix the mess I made. I need you to get over your own heartbreak and help him. I need you to be the things I couldn't be... the things_ you_ couldn't be back then. He needs you... now more than ever. It's up to you now..." she cast her gaze back down, leaning into her seat tiredly. "I'm sorry, I... I can't save him."

* * *

><p>Somewhere far from there, time and space existed in a whole different manner. It was a private hell; a dark, horrid place with its own rules and reason, like another dimension. Life there had its own pace, its own logic and order; a routine that erased everything else until it seemed natural to live that way, like he had never lived any other way. The present became a terrible constant, stretching into both past and future... vanquishing all hope. Time no longer had meaning in such a place. Past and present mingled; dream and reality blending together into a solid existence soaked with agony, blood and tears. Images, sounds and sensations – some real, some not – hazed in and out of the fog, washing over him like continual waves eroding the surface of his sanity.<p>

He was hallucinating; dreaming of that dreadful night Zechs had rescued him and his daughter from the Museum of Natural History. There were piles of bodies on the floor. Zechs stepped over them as he approached the chair on which he was sitting, holding his little girl wrapped securely in his arms. He sat unnervingly still, gaping ahead in shock; his mind still unable to process the swift and merciless massacre he had just witnessed when suddenly every WFLM member in the room dropped dead to the floor right in front of him, a bloody hole in the center of their forehead.

The tall blond Preventer agent knelt before him and placed a strong, heavy hand on his uninjured right knee. He blinked and turned his only functioning eye to gaze numbly at the man. Zechs asked if he could stand, if he could walk, and he shook his head 'no', tears streaming uninhibited down his bloody cheeks. His knee was busted. Everything hurt. He had no more fight left in him... nothing. They had beaten everything out of him... brutally. He just wanted to go home... Please... take us home...

Zechs nodded gravely and stood up. He reached to take Elizabeth away from his arms, and he panicked, holding her tighter, refusing to let go. Zechs told him it was okay; he won't harm her. His arms shook, strained, unable to keep holding onto her so tightly. He let go, a sob escaping his split and bloody lips. It was hard letting her go... He should have never let her go...

Zechs placed Elizabeth gently on the floor next to the chair. She stood there, looking around, dazed... afraid. She didn't know the tall blond man was her uncle, just like she didn't know he was her father. Hopefully, she didn't understand anything of what happened that terrible night...

The tall agent hoisted him off the chair and placed him across his shoulders in a fireman's carry. He then picked the small girl up with one hand and held against this hip, wrapped in one arm like a sack of potatoes. He walked out of the kill zone carrying them both.

Heero remembered the humiliation and relief he felt being carried to safety by that man; once an enemy, now a savior. Zechs laid him carefully on the cold wet ground somewhere outside, where it was quiet... safe. No more dead bodies. The blond man knelt next to him and tried to assess his injuries. He remembered staring up dully at Zechs' focused expression and thinking that he could finally see the resemblance between Relena and her older brother. It was almost comforting, like she was there.

The older man asked where it hurt, but he couldn't answer. He was hurting everywhere; bones crushed, bloody wounds burning with infection, organs failing... a terrible fever coursing through him... He must have been in shock; adrenaline was probably the only thing that had kept him alive by that point.

Zechs tried to offer some relief. He told him that he did well; that Elizabeth was alright and that he did well. He broke into tears, sobbing as helplessly as a child. He couldn't remember much more, only that Zechs kept telling him that he had done the right thing and that everything would be alright... they were safe now. He just laid there on the moist grass and wept, beaten to absolute disgrace by shame, horror and unspeakable pain.

Everything hurt... so badly. His body was on fire, his every cell shrieking in agony. The pain did not originate from his drug-induced hallucination. In reality, his naked body was still restrained to a dentist-like chair in a dark and secluded room. Had he been conscious, he would have realized that the pain he felt was not due to the injuries he had sustained two years ago, but because his body was currently convulsing on the reclining chair, jerking wildly against the bonds holding him down while an ECT machine repeatedly fed high voltage into the electrodes plastered over his nude body. He was being electrocuted; 150 volts administered to his body every half of a second... again and again. His muscles were racked by spasms, his half-lidded eyes were rolled back into his head and his brain starved for oxygen as he writhed helplessly, a pained expression on his oblivious face.

In reality, there was no one there to save him, so Heero dreamed.

* * *

><p>[1] Aphasia is a condition characterized by either partial or total loss of the ability to communicate verbally or using written words following serious brain trauma. Roughly 50% of the time it is temporary and patients recover completely within a few days.<p>

[i] In medicine, a contraindication is a specific situation in which a drug, procedure, or surgery should not be used because it may be harmful to the patient. Relative contraindication means that caution should be used when two drugs or procedures are used together. Absolute contraindication means that event or substance could cause a life-threatening situation. A procedure or medication that falls under this category should be avoided.

* * *

><p><strong>Reminder: <strong>I'm only posting chapters 1-8. Chapters 9-18 are rated MA and hence no longer suitable for this archive. As I've mentioned before, you can find the complete story (all 18 chapters) on the AO3 archive (just follow the link on my profile page. You can also download the eBook).

Elle


	7. Chapter 7: ECT

**Reminder: **I'm only posting chapters 1-8. Chapters 9-18 are rated MA and hence no longer suitable for this archive. As I've mentioned before, you can find the complete story (all 18 chapters) on the AO3 archive (just follow the link on my profile page. You can also download the eBook).

Elle

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 07: ECT<strong>

A cloudy morning announced its untimely arrival with the beeping of a garbage truck moving down the street ten stories below. Dim gray light washed over Heero's small apartment as the sun rose behind the thick clouds. Duo lay sleeping on the couch, nuzzled deeply into the pillow and blanket Heero had left there. He was awakened by the truck's consistent beeping and loud banging as it loaded one trash can after the other.

It was raining; a heavy shower tapping mercilessly against the open window's ledge. The central heating had turned the small residence into a furnace, so the window was open, letting in cool air and the sounds of the city that never slept. Manhattan was damn noisy, but then again, so was L2. If he kept his eyes closed, Duo almost felt at home; almost, because it never rained on L2. That would be a waste of precious water.

The truck rolled away, heading further down the block. He opened his eyes and rolled over to lie on his back, listening to the rain. He had nearly forgotten what it sounded like: annoying. His head hurt and his temples throbbed; he was hung-over and sleep deprived. Groaning wretchedly, he threw the cover aside and got up, heading towards the bathroom. He stopped in front of the closed bathroom door and glanced in the direction of the only other room down the hall: Heero's bedroom. The door was slightly ajar, enough to allow a narrow view of the double bed inside, where Relena lay sleeping, curled in Heero's bed, wrapped in sheets that probably smelled like him. He watched her with a pang of jealousy. It was only natural to let her have the bed; it probably wasn't the first time she had spent a night on it. Duo sighed, shook his head, and entered the bathroom.

He stood over the toilet, relieving himself, and scanned the small washroom out of boredom, maybe curiosity. He reached for a men's shower gel bottle resting on the bathtub-ledge and flipped the lid open with one finger. He took a sniff, closing his eyes as the heady male scent filled his nostrils. It was pleasant... heck – it was fucking _sexy_, maybe because now he knew how Heero smelled like. The thought made the fragrance even more intoxicating.

Placing the soap back down, he spotted a small make-up case lying by the sink on the vanity next to him. He stared at it lengthily, wondering exactly _how many _nights did the young senator spend in this apartment. Suddenly he felt that he could never replace such a relentless presence. Relena has been a part of Heero's life for almost ten years now. She was everywhere... everything. How could she expect him to compete with that? How could she possibly believe that he was the only one who could save Heero? He's been away for too long... he didn't know who Heero was anymore. From what he had been told last night, Heero wasn't the same person he remembered from wartime. She was far more equipped to handle him, much more experienced. Why was she suddenly passing the torch over to him? He didn't know if he could handle such responsibility. What if he let Heero down again?

When he stepped out of the bathroom, the bedroom door was wide open. The bed was empty and neatly made. He walked back to the main living area and spotted Relena in the kitchen, making breakfast and coffee. His first meal of the day was usually a smoke. He went to fetch his cigarettes from the coffee table and walked over to the open window. He leaned over the wide ledge, and smoked while gazing outside.

The black executive's car was still parked in front of the building. From ten stories high it was hard to tell if it was occupied, but it was safe to assume that the two secret service agents were still there.

"Man, those guys must really love their job," he muttered, taking a long drag on his cigarette and releasing the smoke outside.

Relena stepped out of the kitchen carrying a steaming mug of black coffee and a small plate with scrambled eggs and toast.

"They're used to it," she said and placed Duo's breakfast on the coffee table. "We should head back to Preventer soon," she told him and headed back to the kitchen; "office-hours start at eight."

She was halfway there when suddenly a phone started ringing. She froze, halting, and Duo did the same. They both checked their cells, pulling them out of their pockets.

"It's mine," Relena determined quickly and showed him her phone and the caller ID flashing on the screen. "It's Heero," she whispered uneasily.

Duo pushed away from the window and hurried towards her. She took the call, put it on speaker mode, inhaled deeply and answered: "Hello?"

"I know they're trying to trace this call," a low male voice declared harshly. Duo recognized it as the same voice that has been calling him lately.

"Answer me this quickly: is he there?"

Relena looked up, meeting Duo's eyes. "Who?" she asked, playing dumb.

"You know who," the deep voice replied calmly; "Yes or no – is he there?"

Duo nodded at her.

"Yes," she said.

The call disconnected.

"Wait—" Relena called, but it was already too late. She gasped, looking fearfully up at Duo.

His cellphone rang next. He was already holding it in his hand. The caller ID read _'Heero'_. They looked at each other tensely and Duo answered the call, putting it on speaker.

"Quit playin' games, motherfucker!" he growled; "Just tell us what you want already!"

"By the end of this week Heero will be dead, but not before he calls out _one_ name," the man said calmly, unfazed by Duo's threat; "Which will it be: yours or hers? Name it right and his death will be quick and painless. Get it wrong and he dies a slow and agonizing death."

The call was disconnected again.

Relena's phone rang again. He was bouncing between the two of them, trying to avoid a trace.

"A name, now, or all bets are off."

He hung up again and called Duo.

"Who will he call to redeem him? Will it be you – a man he hasn't seen in eight years, or _her_ – the woman who bore his child? Choose quickly or Heero will suffer for your silence."

Duo and Relena looked at each other anxiously.

"I will count to three and then you will have the pleasure of hearing him scre—"

"Mine," Duo blurted out; his hard eyes on Relena. She nodded, approving his choice.

"It's going to be mine," he repeated more confidently.

"I appreciate your confidence," the Redeemer scoffed smugly; "You'll get your answer in four days," he declared, and hung up.

Their phones remained silent this time. Standing in the center of Heero's living room, the two stared at each other anxiously.

"We better get to Shaw," Duo said.

* * *

><p>It was morning. Bright orange-white light flooded the living room of a small apartment, radiating off the bare cream-colored walls and the beige carpeting on the floor. The light was too brilliant; eerie. Everything glowed with an unnatural orangey halo; bright, distorted... surreal. And it was quiet. Too quiet, considering the open balcony window was overlooking a busy main road bustling with traffic just a few stories below. A soft wind was blowing, tousling transparent white drapes hanging over the sliding doors. The fabric flapped under the cool breeze, revealing an urban landscape and in the horizon – Capitol Hill.<p>

Heero stood a few feet away from the balcony, looking out at the view.

He was back in his old DC apartment. He was dreaming.

He stood barefoot and dressed in a thin blue hospital gown. An IV needle was inserted into his arm, above his inner wrist. It stung. Everything hurt, so the stinging barely registered.

A noise came from the direction of his bedroom. He turned around slowly. His bare feet padded noiselessly over the carpet as he placed one foot in front of the other, walking dazedly towards the sound. He stopped at the bedroom doorway and looked inside.

Relena was standing there, her back to the door so all he could see was her long blonde ponytail cascading down the back of her smart black business suit. She was rummaging through his dresser, pulling out clean underwear and clothes. She was too busy to notice him. He watched her quietly, as silent as a ghost.

Voices drifted from somewhere far away. People were arguing, a man and a woman, but their words were muffled, distant. He turned away from the bedroom to face the hallway again. There were two other rooms further down the hall. He walked towards the first. A couple was arguing inside. He could hear them more clearly as he approached.

"You have _no right_ coming here asking to see him!" a woman cried angrily; "You don't even know his name!"

"I'm his father!" the man shouted back.

"Just go!"

"Not before I see him!"

"You're not welcomed here! You never wanted to be a part of our lives so I moved on! Now go! No— Don't touch me! Don't you EVER touch me again, Odin!"

The woman ran out of the room. She bumped into him in the hall. She stopped, gasping; her long brown hair flung back and forth by the abruptness of the halt. She looked up at him, her dark blue eyes furious. It was his mother. He was looking at his mother. It was strange, because he had never seen her from eye level before. In his memories, she always towered above him, yet now he was facing her as an adult of the approximate same age... finally seeing her eye-to-eye.

"You are _just_ like him!" she accused spitefully and shoved him aside, running off. He turned to look over his shoulder, his expression stony as he watched her run towards the end of the long orange hallway, where she was swallowed by flames.

He turned back towards the room she had just departed in a hurry. He stepped closer, stopping at the doorway, and looked inside.

Odin was there; as tall, broad, rigid and menacing as he remembered. The man glared at him sourly with a pair of ruthless Prussian blue eyes.

"We're _nothing _alike," he grunted; "I never would have let you die."

A gun was fired; the shot echoing within the small apartment.

Heero winced, recoiling back a step. It felt like he had just been shot in the heart. It was bleeding. But he wasn't shot. His daughter had just shot herself in the other room.

He turned to look over his shoulder again, back at the corridor. Relena was running towards the den, but it was already too late.

Elizabeth will be dead in a few moments.

He turned back to Odin.

The man now lay bleeding on the floor. He'd been shot too. He was going to die too. Heero stared at him numbly.

**TELL ME ABOUT YOUR PARENTS**, a deep male voice commanded. It was coming from all around him, vibrating through him; invading... consuming... violating... everything.

"M-my... parents?" he asked dazedly. It was hard to speak. Everything hurt; his mouth especially. Its left side was swollen and throbbing. His words were slurred like he just returned from a visit at the dentist.

**YES**, the Voice confirmed. **TELL ME ABOUT THEM.**

The dream faded away; the eerie orange light replaced by the harsh bright-white glare of the projector above him. His inner arm hurt, stinging. Squinting, he could vaguely make out the sight of an IV line running into him, dripping pinkish-clear fluid into his vein.

**TELL ME ABOUT THEM**, the Voice repeated the demand.

He closed his eyes, feeling woozy. He licked his parched and chapped lips, trying to ease the irksome dryness, but for naught. His mouth was completely dry, and sore; he was so thirsty...

**TELL ME**, the Voice insisted and suddenly his world flared up in pain; white-hot agony bursting into ferocious flames, incinerating him from the inside. The words started pouring out of him; hoarse, pained, quiet and gasping:

"My... my mother..." he sobbed the words out, trying to please the Voice so it would stop hurting him; "she... she worked. Something... dangerous... something... important... always more important..." He shuddered, muscles convulsing, teethe chattering. His mouth hurt so much, but he had to keep talking...

"I was just... there..." he mumbled, tears in his eyes. He couldn't stop them. He was crying. The torture eased a bit; the burning pain receding slowly. His body slumped tiredly into the reclined chair. He could breathe again... and the words just kept tumbling from his lips:

"She had a... a husband..." he continued faintly; "He wasn't my father. They... they died. Their work... it was... important. It killed them..."

**HOW OLD WERE YOU?** The Voice asked.

"I don't know..." he cried, shaking his head weakly; "young... I don't know... Can't... can't remember... much... There's... there's nothing important to... to remember..."

**AND YOUR FATHER?**

The very word pierced his heart, puncturing it until it bled some more.

"He... he took me in..." he whispered and more tears gushed from his sorrowful blue eyes. He closed them, ashamed. "Odin... he... he didn't even know my name..."

**DO YOU KNOW YOUR NAME?**

"Yeah... sure..." he slurred the words out without thinking; "It's Seiki..." [[i]] he said his name far too casually considering he was speaking it out loud for the first time; "Seiki Clark..."

**WHY DIDN'T YOU TELL HIM YOUR NAME?**

"Odin he... he didn't... didn't know... I knew... I knew who he... I heard them... fighting... I knew... who he was... he didn't know who I am... not really... and... after a while... it just... Seiki just... stopped... that name... it didn't mean anything anymore... it wasn't me... Seiki is the name my mother gave me... it doesn't mean anything... I was never his son..."

**DID YOU WANT ODIN TO ACKNOWLEDGE THAT HE WAS YOUR FATHER?**

"Sometimes... But he... he died too... All three of them... I saw... saw them... they died... I watched... they died... and I... I... I was alone... it... it didn't matter... I was... I was... always... alone..."

**DID YOU LOVE THEM?**

He whimpered softly, shaking his head.

"I tried... not to..." he whispered mournfully; "They... they didn't... It was like... I wasn't even... there. Not me... not... not... not like that... not like I wanted to be... I had to be what... what they wanted, but... but never... never... never important enough... never... never... no one played with me... it wasn't... I wasn't... love isn't... it's not... it's not as important..."

**THAT IS A VERY HARSH TRUTH FOR A SMALL CHILD TO ACCEPT**, the Voice determined; **IT OBVIOUSLY HAD A PROFOUND EFFECT ON YOU AS AN ADULT. YOU GREW UP THINKING YOU WERE... NOTHING.**

"...disposable..." he murmured sadly; "It's... what weapons are... now..."

**WERE YOU SAD WHEN THEY DIED?**

Heero shook his head helplessly, tears soaking his pale face. "No..." he wept; "not... not really... I... nothing was ever really that sad... never... everything just... happens. Shit happens... all the time. It's not... not important... nothing is... you can kill me... I don't care... I won't beg for it... and I... I won't run from it... it... it doesn't matter... so just... please... just... stop this..." he pleaded, crying pitiably; "please... don't... don't make me... do this..."

**IS THAT WHY YOU DIDN'T TRY TO KILL YOURSELF WHEN ELIZABETH DIED?** The Voice ignored his plea and continued probing. **BECAUSE IT DIDN'T MATTER WHETHER YOU LIVED OR DIED?**

He whimpered, powerless to stop the words from coming.

"I... I didn't care... one way or... the other..." he rasped miserably; "nothing... it didn't matter... live... die... it's all the same... whatever comes... I... I don't care... it's... it's not important..."

**WAS YOUR DAUGHTER IMPORTANT? DID ****_SHE_**** MATTER?**

"She should have..." he whispered bashfully; "she should... but... but she... Relena, she... she was always... always working and I... I... I was... like him... far away... I never really... I didn't know... and when I... when she told me... when I knew... I was just like him... I didn't... didn't care... not enough... I... I was... I was just like him..."

**YOUR FATHER?**

He nodded; his tears flowing freely. "I didn't mean to be like that... I tried... I... I made her important... told myself... everyday... I... I knew she was... she had to be... she couldn't be like me... she was mine... she... I tried... I... I did... I knew... I felt... nothing was ever that important... only she... I was her father..."

**DID YOU RESENT RELENA FOR CHOOSING HER CAREER OVER RAISING YOUR CHILD? LIKE YOUR MOTHER DID?**

"I... maybe... I... I don't know... I don't... I never... maybe..."

The Voice became more urgent, more demanding. **DID YOU LOVE YOUR DAUGHTER?**

"No... I don't think so..." he confessed brokenly, crying; "But I... I... I was... far away... it was better that way... the distance..."

**SO YOU WOULDN'T HAVE TO LOVE HER?** It accused.

"No!" he shook his head in denial, sobbing out the words. "I... I knew she was important... I... I felt... I was... I knew I... I made her important... but it was too late... now I... I can't forget... I was responsible for her... I... I couldn't... it was... it was all I could be... it wasn't enough... but it was all I could be... I tried... I... I... I tried..."

**LOVE AND DUTY ARE TWO VERY DIFFERENT THINGS, HEERO. ARE YOU EVEN ****_CAPABLE _****OF LOVE?**

"I don't know!" he wailed; "I try... I try, but... I don't know... I don't know if I'm doing it right... No one's ever... I don't know... how. I'm just like them!" he cried brokenly, caving to his tears so he could no longer speak. "I'm so sorry!" he sobbed loudly; "I'm just like them! I'm sorry! I'm just like them..."

**I THINK WE'VE MADE QUITE A BREAKTHROUGH TODAY**, the Voice spoke to him softly this time**; GET SOME REST. WE'LL CONTINUE ONCE I RETURN.**

Silence fell. The Voice was gone. Heero was left in the dark, alone with his thoughts and his tears. He wanted to go home...

* * *

><p>Agent Shaw was leaning over the shoulder of a surveillance specialist sitting at his station in the Criminal Intelligence Division. The two were looking at the computer monitor while the young man tried to work his magic. Duo and Relena stood behind them, waiting anxiously. They were both wearing the same clothes from last night, though Relena had put some make-up on, using the make-up case she had found in Heero's bathroom. She was surprised to find it there, but she couldn't possibly dwell on it at the moment. Maybe one day, if it would still be relevant.<p>

"What's taking so fucking long?" Duo grunted; "The asshole was using Heero's phone! It should be a piece of cake... You were ready for this, right? Surely you must have done something to his phone in case this shit happened..."

"It doesn't matter what we did to Yuy's phone or whose phone the Unsub was using," the specialist said, never turning away from the monitor as his fingers swept skillfully over the keyboard. "The Unsub was screwing around with the triangulation metrics. I'm having trouble finding a physical connection through any of the towers around Yuy's block. The cellular phone company's log can identify what towers your phones were associated with at the time, but that's about it."

"You mean you don't know where the calls we received came from?" Relena tried to clarify.

"A mobile number isn't attached to a given switch," the young specialist explained; "So while the far end knows what the number calling is, determining _where_ it's coming from involves some delicate work. Usually the logs help and then we can narrow the search down based on signal strength comparisons, which of the tower's directional antennas are holding the signal, and sometimes, if we're lucky, through the GPS chips in phones."

"But you're not getting any of that?" Relena asked; "Because he kept switching between our phones?"

"No, we can trace a call regardless of how long the caller stays on the line," the tech explained; "Once the call connects, it's already transmitted through the towers and logged."

"So he was just playing with us?" Relena realized dreadfully.

"Either that, or we're dealing with an amateur," Shaw said.

"He's no amateur," Duo grumbled; "He knew his way around your damn database... enough to send me some sensitive intel."

The specialist shook his head. "I disagree," he said; "I had a close look at your laptop, detective, and the Unsub was definitely using a Preventer secured link to send you that data. He left enough to trace the data stream back here. The hacking job was sloppy... much like yours."

"All I'm hearing is that it don't take no _genius_ to compromise your databases," Duo uttered scornfully and the young surveillance specialist offered a brief, ironic, little smile.

"It's not as easy as it looks," he then argued; "Not on that level, anyway. The Unsub was using a SCI level security clearance to access that data, probably Yuy's..." he mumbled uncomfortably, eyes darting back towards his computer monitor. "Heero's ID code was the last to access the data you received," he explained.

"We're obviously dealing with an insider," Agent Shaw determined. "And it's pretty clear that he's not NYPD," she sighed; "He'd have to know his way around here pretty well to hack Heero's computer."

"It's only doable if you can navigate our intranet," the specialist agreed. "The hack was an inside job: sloppy enough to let us know it came from our local network, but good enough to leave us clueless as to whom or where. The Unsub is just good enough not to get caught... and that's all he needs to be."

"He doesn't care if we know he's one of us," Shaw concluded grimly; "He's enjoying this."

They all exchanged worried looks.

"But could anyone mess with a mobile phone signal like he does?" Relena finally asked; "Any agent?"

The specialist shook his head.

"You'll need the right know-how," he said; "but just about anyone can get that online nowadays. And as for equipment... that would involve some resources, but it's doable. The Unsub was either using a directional antenna and some weak false associations, or an intermediary transmission layer linked to his phone... any radio could do that. In any case, he messed with the signal pretty good. I can only narrow it down to somewhere in the 20 square mile cone around Agent Yuy's apartment."

"You're talkin' about the entire Manhattan Island!" Duo exclaimed solemnly. "That doesn't help one bit!"

Merida released a somber sigh. "Just like with the other victims," she mumbled. "We couldn't pinpoint where they were calling from either."

The specialist nodded. "Same MO," he agreed.

"He's not slipping like you hoped he would," Relena accused harshly.

"No... he's not," Shaw mumbled, upset. "Something must be off with the profile. BAU was sure he would get so excited over his prize that he'll make a mistake."

"Well, so far he's done everything right," the specialist pointed out. "I'm sorry I couldn't help... but we'll keep trying. Next time he'll call, we'll try narrowing the region down further."

"We just have to keep him talking..." Merida agreed, nodding curtly; "keep him calling."

"Easier said than done," Duo muttered, scoffing; "It's gonna take _a lot_ to get Heero talkin'... not to mention beg for death like all those other people. We might be looking at a long wait... if he ever calls at all."

"He'll die before he'll say anything..." Relena murmured, looking fearfully at Duo. "He isn't going to call."

"He will," Agent Shaw assured her; "Heero knows this case better than anyone. He knows that we'll be waiting for his call. He'll call. He will."

Duo and Relena didn't look convinced, but neither said a word.

Agent Shaw escorted the two to the elevators down the hall. She pressed the call button and they waited for the elevator to take them back to the CID's briefing room on the eleventh floor, where they will wait for a phone call that might never come. There wasn't much more they could do at this point.

Duo tapped his foot on the floor impatiently while they waited; an irate expression on his harsh face. Relena just stared at her shoes, deeply troubled. Shaw studied them both worriedly.

The elevator doors opened. A man was already inside when they entered; a middle-aged man with a deeply receding hairline, dressed in a plain gray suit and holding a matching leather briefcase. He adjusted his golden-framed eyeglasses and nodded in greeting. He stepped aside, making them some room. Agent Shaw pressed the button for the 11th floor – the button for the 52nd floor was already pressed – and turned to face the older man.

"Doctor Sloan, good morning," she greeted, smiling warmly. "Coming in late?"

The older man smiled back politely. "One of those mornings..." he said, sighing; "Traffic was Hell."

"Tell me about it," she agreed, still smiling.

Dr. Sloan turned to the other two occupants standing in the elevator. He reached a hand towards Relena, offering a handshake.

"Senator Darlian," he greeted respectfully; "I would say it's a pleasure meeting you in person, but under these circumstances..."

She shook his hand, nodding gratefully. "Thank you, doctor," she said; "I gather that you've heard."

The man nodded gravely. "Yes, of course. I'm very sorry for your loss."

"We haven't lost anyone yet," Duo interjected crossly. The man turned to him and smiled in apology.

"Yes, of course," he said and offered Duo his hand. "Detective Maxwell, I presume?"

"Yeah," Duo huffed and shook the man's hand halfheartedly.

After a short, tense silence, the elevator reached the eleventh floor and the doors opened. Merida, Relena and Duo stepped out into the hallway.

Sloan flung a hand forward, stopping the doors from closing. He looked at Relena, then at Duo, and back again. "I don't usually do this," he said; "But if you two ever feel that you need to talk, my office in on the top floor."

"Thank you, doctor," Relena said, nodding in acknowledgement. "Your kindness is appreciated."

Duo said nothing in reply and just turned away from the elevator.

"Same goes for you," Sloan added, gesturing with his head at Agent Shaw. "I'm here if you need anything."

"Thank you, doctor," Merida said; "I'll keep that in mind," she promised and the three headed towards the briefing room at the end of the long hallway.

Dr. Sloan watched them from the elevator until the doors closed.

* * *

><p>It was quiet. So quiet... he could hear his own shallow breathing and nothing more. He was swimming in thick fog... drifting... lost. So quiet... peaceful. The Voice was gone... finally.<p>

His nude body was cold; numb like stone. It was hard to move, even slightly, but he managed to turn his head aside, slowly... woozily. It was dark, but not as dark as before. A dim weak light was coming from somewhere in the room; a gray radiance dissolving some of the constant blankness that has become his world. He spotted the frame of a distant window; white cracks shining brightly around a boarded glass window. Daylight filtered in through the thin cracks. He stared at the window lengthily, dazed. Whispers in his mind reminded him of how the BAU agents briefing them on the case said that their Unsub most likely had a steady day job. His captor was at work... that was why it was so quiet.

He turned his head straight up again, staring numbly at the inoperative lamp directly above him, a dull expression on his gaunt and stubble-covered face. His left cheek was badly swollen; a faraway look gleamed weakly in his half-lidded eyes. They shone with a feverish glaze, gawking mindlessly ahead. An IV line was still connected to his arm, dripping pinkish-clear fluid into his vein. His mind wandered... drifting anywhere and everywhere at once.

His fingers twitched. He tried to lift his hands up, but couldn't. They were held down by what felt like leather straps. Yes... he remembered this part. He's been captured... He was lying in the intensive-care-unit on the 50th floor of the Alliance Military no.3 Medical Building in the South J.A.P area. Yes... that was it... he remembered now... he's been shot.

Duo shot him. Twice. Relena was there too. They were coming for him... both of them. They were.

He looked around, his eyes searching the room desperately. There was nothing there... no one...

He tilted his head back so he could look behind him. There. He found it. A small monitor was sitting on a cart directly behind his head. He strained his neck, stretching his head back as much as he could.

The screen was dark. The monitor wasn't working.

He blinked, and suddenly it came to life; white-noise flickering on the screen. An image appeared next and he smiled, relieved. It was Duo; he was looking at Duo's face. The Deathscythe pilot looked exactly as he remembered from back then: a cocky fifteen-year-old smirking at him through the monitor, head bowed down slightly so that his eyes were concealed by a black baseball cap. He had a finger raised to his mouth, signaling him to keep quiet.

Heero stared, bemused.

"D-Duo..?" he croaked faintly, his voice hoarse, worn-down by thirst and helpless screaming.

"Are you... there?" he whispered shakily; hopeful, but afraid. "Are you... are you... real?"

Duo's lips moved. He was saying something, but there was no sound. He couldn't hear him. He tried to read his lips, but he couldn't focus... his vision was too blurry.

"I can't hear you..." he whispered miserably; "Duo... please... I... I don't... I don't understand... What are trying to say..? You're not saying anything..."

Duo was still speaking. He couldn't hear him either.

Heero closed his eyes sadly and turned his head back down, shaking it feebly.

"You're not real..." he rasped hopelessly; "this isn't real..."

Tears flooded his eyes, lingering to his closed eyelashes.

"None of this is real..."

He opened his eyes again and tilted his head backwards to look at the monitor. The screen was blank. He gaped at it numbly, disappointed. It wasn't real... none of it. No one was coming for him. Not Relena, and certainly not Duo.

"Duo..?" he whispered weakly, looking desperately at the blank screen. "Are you there..?" he pleaded, but only a black monitor stared back at him. Heero heaved a long and miserable sigh. He shifted his head back down, crying silently. Tears continued to slide freely down his stubbly and swollen cheeks.

Duo won't be coming for him. He had left... he had left him in that ICU after the fight in Brussels. He just left... Duo left before he was well enough to say the words that have been haunting him ever since...

Heero closed his eyes, whimpering quietly. Those words were finally coming out, but there was no one there to hear them: "Please don't leave me..."

* * *

><p>Rising 52 floors above ground level and 1,046 feet into the New York skyline, Preventer's NYC's Field Office was the fourth tallest building in Manhattan, right along with the New York Times Building and almost as tall as the Chrysler Building. It offered a tremendous view of the city. Standing outside in one of the balconies on the top floor, Duo leaned over the concrete banister, smoking and gazing ahead at the Brooklyn Bridge not far away. A strong, chilly wind was blowing, tousling his long bangs and the stray locks sticking out of his long braid. He had raised the collar of his black leather jacket up to protect his neck from the powerful breeze. He gazed down at the city, his grim cobalt eyes scanning one building after the other, uselessly searching for a sign, something that would hint where Heero could possibly be.<p>

Frustrated, he stubbed out his finished smoke on the concrete banister. He turned around, leaning against the bulky stone barrier, and pulled the cigarette box out of his jacket pocket. He placed a cigarette between his pressed lips and pulled out a blue lighter as well; Heero's lighter. He studied it for a moment, just holding it in his hand... thinking of its owner. He sighed and lit up his smoke. He shoved the lighter back into his pocket.

A man stepped out to the balcony, joining him. It was Dr. Sloan.

"May I join you?" he asked, approaching before Duo gave his answer.

"Go ahead," Duo grunted and turned back around to face the view, smoking. "I hear it's a free country..."

Dr. Sloan smiled politely. He leaned on the banister as well, standing next to Duo. "So they say..." he sighed; studying the view as well; "Thanks to your efforts, among other things," he added kindly.

Duo scoffed. "So you know," he muttered.

Sloan nodded. "Yes, of course."

"Heero told you?"

"I'm not at liberty to say."

"Well he shoulda told you that we were out to free the Colonies... a free Earth was just a perk."

"A most welcomed bonus, then," the man commented, smiling.

Duo rolled his eyes. "Sure, whatever."

"You're not very fond of Earth, I gather."

"I ain't very fond of anything," Duo grunted and took another drag on his smoke.

Sloan nodded pensively and turned around, leaning against the banister. He placed two hands in his pants' pocket and gazed down at the floor. They stood in silence for a while. Duo could tell that the man was waiting for him to say something. He heaved an irked sigh and pushed off the banister, turning to leave and head back inside.

"Look doc, I appreciate the gesture 'n all," he told the doctor and dropped the cigarette down, stomping it with his foot; "but I ain't done no talkin' with this shrink I'm supposed to be seein' back on L2, so... nice try, but no thanks."

The middle-aged man nodded and looked up, studying him for a moment.

"You remind me of him," he observed, smiling sadly.

Duo frowned. "Who? Heero?"

Dr. Sloan nodded an affirmative and Duo scoffed dismissively.

"How'd you figure that?" he taunted.

"You're both tough nuts to crack," the man replied smoothly, smiling in good humor.

Duo chuckled bitterly. "That would be your professional assessment? That we're both nuts?"

"Just an observation," the man shrugged and turned around to study the view, leaving Duo be. The young man remained standing where he was, looking at the older man. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the pack of smokes again, drawing out a third cigarette. He lit it up and went back to the banister, sighing. He leaned forward, studying the view again.

"You been treatin' him long?" he asked the doctor after a while.

"About a year now," Sloan answered, also studying the view; "since he transferred to New York. The transition has been... challenging."

Duo snorted. "I bet," he grunted; "The guy has a lotta shit to deal with."

Dr. Sloan nodded in agreement. "Our sessions are..." he sighed; "It's a work in progress." He turned to look at Duo, his face stern. "Heero doesn't talk much," he added, adjusting his eyeglasses over his nose.

"No shit." Duo muttered and took another puff on his smoke. He leaned over the banister a bit, standing on his tip toes, so he could look down at the street below.

"Makes you wonder though, right?" he said, still facing down.

"Wonder what?"

"What makes a guy like him tick," Duo clarified and rose back up, lifting the cigarette back to his lips. "Useta drive me up the wall... thinkin' 'bout what goes on in that dense head of his."

Sloan nodded. "He's an enigma alright."

"You gotta read between the lines with that guy... which is kinda hard considering he don't say much," Duo concluded with a bitter chuckle.

"I can see how that would drive someone crazy," Sloan agreed.

"Yeah, well, at least you get paid to deal with it... I had to go to war with that guy... and no one threw in any hazard-pay, yanno?"

The man smiled at his joke. "I imagine that it was quite difficult, having to depend on a guy like that."

"Oh no, the depending part was easy," Duo disagreed, shaking his head. "He's so fucking reliable... It was all the other parts that were too damn hard." He sighed, bowing his head down miserably. "I just... I dunno. I was out looking for trouble, I guess. Like I didn't have 'nough of ma shit goin' on, yanno? But man, was he worth it... He was irresistible."

Sloan offered a sympathetic smile. "The mysterious ones always are."

Duo nodded. "I just had to figure him out... crazy, huh?" he mumbled, gazing down at the city. "Funny thing is, in the end it turns out that I was _way off_. Looks like the one who really understands him is someone I always ruled out as totally _clueless_."

"Relena?" Sloan asked and Duo nodded, laughing sullenly.

"That's gotta be ironic, right?" he snorted; "I mean, I figured that Heero and me... we were so much more alike, but... but maybe he didn't need that. He already had his own ugliness to face in the mirror... why add mine on top of that? God... I shoulda figured it out back then. Woulda saved myself a lotta heartache."

"Would it have changed your feelings towards him?"

Duo looked up, alarmed. He laughed nervously. "Oh man, it's that obvious, huh?"

Sloan smiled back.

"Nah... probably not," Duo exhaled tiredly and turned back to the banister. "I woulda still been a jealous bastard... wanting it all, yanno? The good and the bad... his beauty and his ugliness." He looked ahead numbly for a moment, a wretched look in his cobalt eyes.

"Sad things is... I still do," he mumbled and buried his face in his hands, still holding the burning smoke between two fingers. "God... I wish..." he shook his head against his hands; "Fuck it," he rephrased; "I... I just... I pray to God he's gonna make it, doc. There's... there's so much I gotta tell him when it's over... so much I left unsaid..."

Dr. Sloan nodded in understanding. He placed a comforting hand on Duo's shoulder, tapping on it lightly. He went back into the building, leaving Duo to his thoughts.

The braided young man remained standing on the balcony, leaning over the banister with his face still buried in his hands. He moved one hand away, the one without the cigarette, and reached into his jacket, fingers seeking the crucifix hanging from his neck. He held the small pendant in his fist tightly, his eyes closed and his face still hidden behind one hand as he offered the Lord a first prayer in years, hoping that if there was a God out there, that he would be willing to listen to his plea.

* * *

><p>It was dark again. And cold... so cold. He was frozen... inside and out. At least that way, nothing hurt anymore. Numbness was a blessing. He could stay like this forever...<p>

There was a dripping noise... droplets falling quietly into a puddle somewhere below. His blood. He was bleeding from open gunshot wounds... his blood dripping to the floor.

Drip...

Drip...

Drip...

He was still strapped down to that bed, at the Alliance military hospital.

Where was Duo? Why wasn't he coming?

Because Duo left. He left him in Brussels.

Wait... that couldn't be right... it hasn't happened yet.

But it has... a long time ago.

Duo left. He had left angry... betrayed. He wasn't going to come back.

He shouldn't have angered Duo... shouldn't have done many things... should have done many other things... but it was too late.

He was alone now. Alone.

It was so cold... and Duo... he... he always made him feel... so... _hot_...

**TELL ME ABOUT DUO.**

The Voice was back. Heero jerked, startled.

"D-Duo..?" he echoed weakly; barely able to speak. His jawline hurt so much; a raw, acid heat pulsated through it when he moved his mouth. It was infected; the inflammation has spread to his inner cheek, causing it to swell dangerously. It was hard to talk... it hurt.

**YES**, the Voice confirmed; **TELL ME ABOUT HIM**.

"He won't help me..." he mumbled hazily, shaking his head.

**WHY NOT?** The Voice demanded to know.

"I... I messed up..." he whispered; "really... really... bad..."

**MESSED WHAT UP?**

"Us... What... what... what we... we could've... what we could've... had..."

**WHICH IS?**

"I... I don't know... couldn't... couldn't... couldn't stick around... long 'nough to... to find out..."

**WHY NOT? WHAT WERE YOU RUNNING FROM?**

"...fire..."

**FIRE?**

"Hmm... yeah..." he murmured dreamily, nodding his head; "Duo is... he's... he's like... fire. Hot... burning... dangerous..."

**YOU MEAN YOU WERE SEXUALLY ATTRACTED TO HIM?**

"Hmm... yeah..." he smiled sluggishly; "but... but that burn... it... it was... wasn't just that..."

**WHAT WAS IT LIKE THEN?**

He had to think about that one for a moment. "It... in my chest... it burned... so hot... it... hurt. Thinking about him... just... just thinking... burnt... too hot... I... I... I couldn't breathe sometimes... it just... it was... like... like rocks... heavy... and... and... too much... I... I couldn't... I couldn't function... like... like I... like they wanted me to... It was... always him... distracting... pulling me under... and..." he sighed; "...that burning... in my chest... it... it scared me..."

**WHAT ABOUT RELENA?**

"Relena..?" he blinked, dazed.

**DID YOU FEEL THE SAME WAY ABOUT HER?**

He shook his head feebly. "No... not like... Relena was... she's... mellow... not... not like... like those flames... She... she... it was like... like... like soaking in a warm bath... It... She... I... It soothed me... I liked it... that... that... that calm... peaceful... like it was... it was... like I could finally... sleep..."

**WERE YOU ATTRACTED TO HER AS WELL?**

"...sometimes... yeah... but I... with her I... it was... soft... like warm water... It... it was a different kinda warm... not so hot... not so... so... dangerous..."

**YOU FELT SAFE WITH HER.**

"Yeah... yeah... safe... she... she made everything... better..."

**AND DUO?**

He sighed, despaired. "Duo... complicated things... everything was so... confusing... too... too much... Duo is... he's... too... much... too intense... everything has to be... be... fast and... and furious... and... and sometimes I just... I..."

**YOU JUST NEEDED TO FALL APART**, the Voice deduced; **YOU NEEDED SOMETHING SOFT TO LAND ON.**

"Yeah... maybe..."

**UNLIKE WITH RELENA, YOU FELT THAT YOU NEEDED TO BE STRONG FOR DUO?**

"I... I didn't want him to... to burn out... That fire... sometimes it was... too hot... too dangerous... he could... could burn... and I... I just... I wanted him to... to be... safe..."

**LIKE YOU FELT WITH RELENA?**

"...yeah... like that..." he slurred quietly, tired; "I... I tried but... but I... I was never... never that... that warm... never that... soft... I was too hard... I didn't mean it, but... but it was... it was..."

**THE ONLY WAY YOU COULD PROTECT HIM? BY BEING STRONG... CALLOUS?**

"Yeah... that," he agreed weakly; "I... I was always too desperate... came on too... strong... We... we could never... never really... we never really got past the... the... the sex... always... too strong... too angry... It was that fire... it... it consumed... everything... blinding us... it was too hot... we couldn't get close..."

**HAVE YOU TRIED TALKING TO HIM ABOUT THESE THINGS?**

"No... no... I... I don't... I never... I didn't know how..."

**YOU'RE DOING IT NOW**, the Voice pointed out.

"Yeah... but I don't want to... you're making me... you... you did... you did something... to me..."

The white light above him switched on. Heero gasped under its harsh assault and clenched his eyes shut, groaning. He could feel movement next to him. Medical instruments were clanking again. He opened his eyes carefully, squinting, and turned his head aside in the direction of the movement. He peered through half-lidded eyes that have yet to adjust to the terrible brightness. A familiar face hovered above him; the face of an older man with a deeply receding hairline and stern, calculative eyes staring him down from behind a pair of golden-framed eye-glasses. He knew this man... he's been avoiding him for so long... Could he be the Voice?

"I've been poisoning you for almost three months now, Heero," the man informed him smugly as he reached for the instruments tray and picked up a new syringe and a small glass vial filled with pinkish liquid.

"Undermining your every defense," the man continued as he filled the syringe; "breaking you one piece at a time." He tested the needle, squirting some fluid out, and turned to the IV bag hanging above, full of clear fluids.

"Add to that a few intense ECT treatments [[1]] and some of my Magic Potion... and you can't help it," he explained arrogantly as he injected the pinkish mixture into the bag, where it slowly blended with the rest of the fluids. The IV line soon filled with the pinkish-clear mixture, dripping into Heero's arm.

The man turned back to face him, only his jaw line visible under the brilliant white lamp. He was smiling slyly.

"You're _finally _going to talk to me, Heero," he promised, leaning down towards the restrained young man lying helplessly on the chair. "Whether you want to or not."

Heero gaped numbly at the face of the man hovering above him. The Voice now had a face, and it was the face of one Dr. G. Sloan.

"But trust me," Sloan continued, still smiling haughtily; "I'm doing you a favor. I'm going to help you choose... All those things you've left unsaid are finally going to come out, Heero," he promised; "It's the only way this is ever going to end," he said, and Heero closed his eyes sadly, turning the other way.

"It's the only way you'll ever be redeemed..."

* * *

><p>[1] ECT: Electroconvulsive therapy (popularly known as shock-therapy) is a standard psychiatric treatment in which seizures are electrically induced in patients to provide relief from psychiatric illnesses, such as a major depressive disorder. ECT is administered under anesthetic with a muscle relaxant and a breathing tube.<p>

[i] Seiki: (n) (mind and) spirit/life energy/vitality/essence

* * *

><p><strong>Reminder: <strong>I'm only posting chapters 1-8. Chapters 9-18 are rated MA and hence no longer suitable for this archive. As I've mentioned before, you can find the complete story (all 18 chapters) on the AO3 archive (just follow the link on my profile page. You can also download the eBook).

Elle


	8. Chapter 8: ICU

**Reminder: **I'm only posting chapters 1-8. Chapters 9-18 are rated MA and hence no longer suitable for this archive. As I've mentioned before, you can find the complete story (all 18 chapters) on the AO3 archive (just follow the link on my profile page. You can also download the eBook).

Elle

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 08: ICU<strong>

Like the morning before, Relena and Duo arrived at Preventer's field office bright and early after another sleepless night spent tossing and turning in their hotel room beds. They were shown to the CID's meeting room and after a technician checked that everything was in order with their tapped cell phones, they were left alone in the room, resigned to another day of stressful waiting.

The wait was taking its toll. Duo had paced the briefing room impatiently for about half an hour before he got fed up and went to search for a place to smoke. Relena stayed in the small meeting room. No other significant calls came since yesterday morning; only her personal assistant calling about a million times. She told him she was taking some personal time and that he shouldn't bother her. Since then, her smartphone was dead quiet. She stood by the floor-to-ceiling window overlooking the Federal Plaza below and passed the time watching people going about their daily lives, last-minute Christmas shopping, holiday plans and all. She held a coffee mug in both hands, but has yet to take one sip. She gazed out the window dazedly, lost in thought.

She remembered the long, excruciating wait while Heero was in surgery after Zechs had rescued him and Elizabeth from the hands of the WFLM. She had stood by a window at the Specialty Hospital of Washington's family waiting room, looking out at a slumbering Capitol Hill neighborhood while her daughter slept on one of the sofas, covered by a blanket and hugging her pink little bunny doll.

SHW was less than a ten minute drive away from the Smithsonian Institution National Museum of Natural History; it served the area's critical care patients. Zechs had grown impatient waiting for the emergency forces to arrive at the scene and brought Heero and Lizzie there himself. It was a good judgment call, because if he had waited a minute longer, Heero would not have made it; once the adrenaline in his system wore off, he crashed... right there, at the ER entrance.

People in the streets below were sleeping in their homes, clueless of the horrors that had transpired that night. A cover-up was already underway. Those people slept securely in their beds, children counting the hours before Christmas Day with not a worry in the world. The Smithsonian museums closed their doors for visitors on December 25th, which was fortunate for the crews responsible for the cover-up; there was no need to close the museum and arouse suspicion. The dead hostages' bodies have already been transferred to the cover-up site. The story was going to be that they perished in a fire that broke out in a house-party on Christmas Eve, right here in Capitol Hill. Families will be paid handsomely to keep quiet.

Looking ahead at the near horizon, Relena could see the smoke rising behind distant rooftops. A controlled fire has been set by the cover-up crews, currently consuming a safe-house chosen for that purpose, burning evidence of government inadequacy to ashes. She sighed and turned away from the dark window, turning her back at the fire burning in the distance. She cast her gaze down to the sofa, watching her child's face, peaceful in sleep, as though she hadn't just been rescued from a living Hell. Her daughter had borne witness to a massacre at the tender age of three. It was beyond appalling, but she couldn't deal with it right now. It would have to wait. She will get her daughter all the help she will possibly need... but not right now.

The waiting room door opened and a middle-aged doctor stepped in. She looked up to meet his tired eyes and he nodded in greeting, approaching her.

"How is he?" she whispered fearfully.

"Out of surgery," the doctor said, sighing; "But he's not out of the woods yet," he added sullenly. "The first surgery was damage control... quick crisis management, just enough to keep him alive. His organs are still bleeding, still damaged. He needs more surgery. We'll keep him open... see if he survives the next few hours before we proceed."

"Open?" she whispered dreadfully.

"Yes," the doctor repeated; "We've covered the exposed organs with plastic wrap," he explained; "We've given him medications to help his blood clot and to help counteract the acid buildup. We're slowly raising his body temperature with warming blankets, warmed IV fluids, and blood products."

"And how... how long does he have to... to stay... open... like that?"

"We want him to regain as much strength as possible before we operate again. Still, we have to repair the damage as soon as possible. It's a balancing act... Heero might die if we don't get him back to surgery soon, but he might also die if we take him back to OR too soon... We have to proceed carefully."

"So we wait?"

The doctor nodded; his eyes grave. "We wait."

"Senator Darlian?" a soft female voice called from behind and Relena blinked, torn from her grim reminiscing. She hadn't realized she had melted back into the past.

She turned away from the daylight-flooded window to face the speaker. It was Agent Shaw. The young redheaded agent was looking at her with a worried look on her pale freckled face. She was holding a Dunkin' Doughnuts box in her hand.

"I figured you could use some comfort food," she said, smiling faintly.

"Thank you," Relena said softly; "But I can't really eat anything... I'm afraid I'll throw it up."

Shaw nodded in understanding. She placed the doughnut box on the meeting room table. The two took a seat. Relena placed her now cold coffee mug on the table and stared at it dully.

"I hate this part," she mumbled.

"Waiting?" Shaw asked quietly and the young senator nodded.

"I've spent so much time waiting for him... and each time it felt worse than the one before..." She heaved a tired sigh, playing with the mug's handle, turning it left and right absentmindedly.

"I waited while he was out there, fighting for freedom... I waited while he threw himself without reserve into the arms of another... I waited while Preventer sent him out on all of those _'fire extinguishing'_ missions... I waited while he kept putting himself in danger again and again... I waited while he was bargaining for our daughter's life with his own... I waited for him to come around from heartache after heartache... Sometimes it feels like I'm doomed to just... keep waiting... forever... It often feels like he'll never come around..."

"Sounds like you believe he's worth the wait," Shaw offered some insight and Relena smiled sadly, her gaze still cast down at her mug.

"Yes... I do." She looked up at the other woman. "Have you ever had someone like that, Agent Shaw?" she asked quietly; "Someone worth the wait?"

"Please, call me Merida," the young redheaded woman said; "And I don't believe I have. I'm not that lucky, I guess."

Relena nodded in understanding and bowed her head down again, staring at her coffee mug.

"I don't think I've ever met anyone like Heero, though," Merida added thoughtfully. "He... I mean... I can definitely see the allure," she mumbled and looked aside uncomfortably. "But still, I don't think I could ever get involved with someone so... complicated. A guy like that... that's just asking for trouble."

Relena released a quiet chuckle. "That's putting it _mildly_," she joked forlornly. Her smile faded slowly. She cast her eyes back down.

"You said you went out with him?" she asked guardedly.

Shaw nodded. "It was part of an act... but yeah."

"Doesn't sound like something he'd agree to do," Relena pointed out, pinning Merida's green eyes with her harsh blue gaze.

The young agent shifted uneasily in her seat. "Maybe he felt that he had no other choice," she offered softly; "It was no picnic, I'll tell you that... but I've dated worse," she concluded with a light joke.

Relena smiled back sullenly. "That was your makeup case," she deduced quietly, casting her eyes down to the table again; "In his apartment."

Merida nodded. "Yes... We've spent quite a few nights in each other's place. We didn't do anything. It was just pretend."

Relena nodded, smiling in mild amusement at the sound of her obviously defensive tone.

"Have you thought about it, though?" she demanded quietly. She laughed when she saw the mortified look on Merida's face.

"Don't worry," she hurried to reassure the young agent; "I'm not some kind of jealous girlfriend or anything like that... I've been sharing him with another since the day we met. I'm just curious, that's all."

"Looking for confirmation that you're not completely nuts for falling for him?" Merida suggested with a sympathetic smile.

Relena smiled back, just slightly. "Probably," she mumbled, casting her gaze down; "All the time," she added sullenly.

"Well, you're not," the redheaded woman assured her; "I'm just not one to fall for the dark brooding type," she shared good-heartedly; "Bad boys aren't my type," she explained. "I think that's why Sloan thought it'd be safe to pair us up for this assignment... no chance we'd actually fall for each other or anything like that."

"He profiled you before they put you on the case?"

"The both of us, yes," Shaw nodded; "But it's not like there were a lot of options;" she clarified; "There aren't many eligible female agents in the CID, not as young as Heero, anyway. I'm two years older, actually, but I suppose they figured that it would have to do. The important thing was that I wasn't really his type, I guess."

"And what would that be... his type?"

"Well, you should be the one to know... right?" Shaw laughed nervously; "Someone strong, dominant... an equal. Not a hopeless romantic like me, that's for sure. I'm too old fashioned... and he looks like the type of guy who needs someone who won't think twice before putting him in his place," she laughed goodheartedly and Relena smiled back, though sadly.

"I think that he's far more likely to fall for someone like you," Merida concluded, watching the young senator carefully; "and he had, right? Once?"

Relena bowed her head down. "I suppose," she mumbled sadly. "I don't really know." She looked up again, her blue eyes gleaming sadly. "But I'd like to think so... yes."

"In any case, I'm not blind or anything," Shaw hurried to add; "like I said, I can _definitely_ see the allure... I can't say I blame you for falling as hard as you have... that must have been difficult."

Relena nodded in gratitude, grateful for her understanding. "I suppose that falling for someone like Heero wasn't a very wise choice to make..." she murmured wistfully; "But it's not like I asked for it. I was fifteen... Can you imagine meeting a guy like that at fifteen? He took my breath away... Guess I never got over it."

The two shared a knowing smile, which vanished from their lips soon enough. They bowed their heads and stared numbly at the table.

"How long did it take the others to call?" Relena asked after some time.

"It differed with each victim," Shaw said grimly; "Some called after a day... others took a bit longer. Their bodies were usually found three to five days after they had gone missing."

"How... how were they... tortured?"

Shaw shifted her glance away uneasily. "Electrocution," she murmured quietly; "and he sliced them up with a knife... nothing lethal... just painful."

"Why do you think he does that?" Relena frowned; "If he's trying to reenact the DC Incident, all of his victims should have died under fourteen hours... plus, none of them was tortured... just... just Heero. He... he took a beating for all of them... but he was never electrocuted."

"I don't know," the young agent admitted. "If you ask me, there are a lot of holes in the BAU's profile," she sighed in frustration. "They've already changed the profile twice. This Unsub has them completely puzzled. I don't think any of them really know why he's doing this. They're trying to establish a new working profile, based on what's been happening since Heero was taken. I hope it would help bring us closer to a suspect."

"And meanwhile?"

"We wait."

* * *

><p>Heero's life hung on a delicate balance: wait too long for surgery, and his body might fail him, whereas not waiting long enough might mean that he won't survive another surgery. It was a fine line; damned if you do, damned if you don't. His doctors said that he may not be quite stable enough, but if they wait much longer he'll go into multiple organ failure and they will lose him for certain. So after a few tense consultations, they decided to take Heero back to the OR and finish what they've started.<p>

That was five hours ago.

Relena paced the waiting room back and forth, hands behind her back, face troubled. Elizabeth sat on the sofa, awake; she was watching some children's show on TV and munching on a snack from the vending machine. It was Christmas morning and most children were seated happily around the family room, accepting colorful gifts with toothy smiles and open arms. It was a morning for hugs and kisses; a day for family. Relena had planned on taking some much overdue time-off and to spend the day with her daughter, maybe even convince Heero to join them... but not like this. She never imagined she would be spending it like this...

The waiting room door opened. Relena stopped pacing and looked up, hoping to see a doctor. Instead, her eyes fell on a strapping young man, tall, blond and blue-eyed, who had just stepped into the room and closed the door behind him: Zechs. He was dressed casually: plain blue jeans and long sleeved shirt; his long blond hair undone and cascading over the back of his elegant black leather jacket. She studied his stoic face for a moment, feeling awkward. There was a lot of baggage between them, more than they could ever work out in this lifetime, and enough so that they would never even consider spending Christmas together as a family, yet there he was, supporting her in a time of need... for once filling the role a sibling.

She watched as he turned to his young niece seated on the sofa and caressed her messy dishwater-blonde hair fondly. The little girl looked up, gazing at him dazedly. Her large Prussian blue eyes shone with a quiet calm, so... attentive. Zechs looked deeply into those eyes, studying them quietly, and Relena knew exactly what he was thinking: he was thinking of Heero's eyes... they were so much alike. As he kept staring at her mutely, Elizabeth shied away from her uncle, pulling back, and resumed watching her cartoon quietly. Zechs finally moved away.

He turned to Relena. "How is he?" he asked and she sighed.

"No news yet," she mumbled; "he's still in surgery."

Zechs nodded curtly. "I've seen him survive worse," he reminded her; "He'll make it."

She nodded dismissively, unable to believe his reassurances; not when she knew that the only reason Zechs could say those words with such certainty was because he had been there, as an enemy, often the one who was responsible for all those past injuries. A sick, forbidding feeling twisted and churned in her stomach, torturing her with the inevitable fatalist question: how much more punishment could Heero possibly take?

"How did it go?" she asked Zechs, changing the subject so she won't have to dwell on it again. She turned to look at her brother guiltily.

"As expected," he said plainly, his voice cool, resigned. "They discharged me for misconduct."

"I'm sorry," she apologized automatically, always the diplomat.

Zechs looked straight into her eyes. His gaze was fierce, yet warm.

"Don't be," he said.

They looked at each other, sharing a rare moment of understanding. For the first time since she had learned that he was in fact her brother, Relena felt that she was in the comforting presence of an older sibling. The sensation was alien, almost wrong, but she found it very reassuring... more than anything he could say at the moment.

The waiting room door opened again and a doctor stepped in; it was the same middle-aged surgeon from last night. The two siblings turned to face him with anxious blue eyes.

"The surgery was successful," the older man informed them quietly and Relena exhaled with relief.

"We've managed to stop the bleeding and repair the damaged organs," the doctor continued; "He's being transferred to recovery right now. You'll be able to see him shortly."

"So he's... he's going to be alright?" she asked fearfully.

"It's still early to tell," the surgeon said; "Right now, our biggest concern is organ failure. The trauma to his internal organs was great... there's still a chance some of them might crash. We will keep a close eye on him for the next few hours and hope for the best."

"So... more waiting?" she sighed tiredly, disappointed.

"I'm afraid so," the doctor confirmed; "But you can stay with him, if you like."

"Thank you, doctor. I'd like that."

She turned to Zechs, silently asking him to stay with her daughter while she went to see Heero. He nodded, accepting her request quietly. He took a seat on the sofa, next to the small child, his posture as rigid and callous as a bodyguard. He was just as uncomfortable around children as she was, it would seem, but it was better than nothing. She trusted him to keep her daughter safe. Sending her child one last glance, Relena followed the doctor out of the room.

"You should prepare yourself," the man warned her before they entered Heero's ICU room. "It was quite an extensive surgery... it has taken a toll. Some people might find that alarming," he explained; "There's a tube in his throat, helping him breathe, and his torso was cut open, as well as part of his esophagus, so there's a big scar. Just... be prepared."

She wanted to tell him that she had seen Heero in far worse conditions, during the war and afterwards, but suddenly such a claim didn't feel very accurate. She had seen him shot and bleeding; ill and fatigued; battered, bruised and suffering of severe malnutrition after weeks in enemy hands. She had been by his side when he had recovered from one perilous mission after the other since he had started working as an operative for Preventer's CTD. She had been there, waiting in ICUs all around the world... since the day he had ended the conflict between Earth and the Colonies by crashing Wing-ZERO over the Presidential Palace in Brussels, and to this very day. His injuries were always extensive, but no matter how grave his condition, when she stepped into his hospital room she was always greeted by the fierce blue fire burning in his eyes. He could be bruised, broken and bandaged all over, but his eyes always remained lucid, lively... resilient. She would take one look at him and she would know – he was going to make it. Now, however, when she opened the door... she was faced with a completely different image... a nightmare.

Sound of life support machines filled the small ICU room: a heart monitor registered a weak yet steady pulse and a respiratory machine pumped oxygen into the tube running into Heero's open mouth. He lay naked from the waist up; an ugly screaming-red scar running across his torso, seaming him at the center from his throat down. The fresh scar was held together by thick black staples. His skin was sickly and pale, his face stubbly and gaunt. He looked as though he was already dead, lying cold, lifeless and blue on the autopsy table after being cut open postmortem. The sight was grisly... heart wrenching. She couldn't bear seeing him like this.

Relena inhaled a deep breath and stepped into the room, closing the door behind her. Her blue eyes were already gleaming with tears by the time she reached the bed. She stood by his bedside, watching his oblivious face. She reached for his limp hand resting motionlessly over the bed, and held it tightly. It was cold and clammy, inert. She squeezed it, hard, and her vision blurred with tears. She bent down carefully and placed a soft, delicate kiss on his cold forehead.

"Thank you," she whispered, crying, and pulled away slowly. She took a seat by his bed and settled in for a long, nerve-wracking, wait.

* * *

><p>"Hungry?" Duo's voice tore into her grave reminiscing and Relena looked up from the briefing room table, meeting his eyes. He was standing at the other side of the long table, holding a Chinese takeout box. She could smell the stench of cigarettes from across the room.<p>

"I found this takeout menu in Heero's desk," he said and gestured towards her with the box. "Want some?" he offered, holding up a second pair of chopsticks.

Relena shook her head.

"You sure?" he asked; "He had this buy-nine-get-one-free punch-card 'n it was all used up, so I figure that if Heero likes it that much, it's gotta be good..."

She smiled politely, somewhat amused. "No, thanks," she said; "You go ahead. I'm not hungry."

He nodded and took a seat at the opposite side of the table. He opened the box and started eating, wolfing down a dish of noodles. When he caught her staring at him, he slowed down and smiled sheepishly.

"I'm a nervous eater," he said with his mouth full, shrugging; "Heero useta say I was fuckin' disgusting... that I eat like a pig."

She offered him a small, gracious, smile.

"Guess I can't help being a slob when it comes to food..." Duo mumbled thoughtfully, digging the chopsticks into the box. "It sorta comes with the territory when you live on L2..."

"You were a street urchin?" she asked carefully.

"Hmm yeah, sure, why not... That's one way of puttin' it."

She nodded in understanding. Heaving a silent sigh, she turned her head aside, looking out the floor-to-ceiling window stretching behind her.

"He couldn't stand the way I ate either," she murmured reflectively, a small, wistful smile tugging at the edges of her lips. "He never understood why I bothered following all those rules... European high society..." she let out a small chuckle; "he hated formal dinners... said he didn't see the necessity in so many forks."

Duo let out a small chuckle. "Guess he was sort of caught in the middle, huh?" he mumbled; "Always jugglin' between a good-for-nuthin' _street urchin_ and an _upper-class_ princess..."

"A balancing act..." Relena murmured pensively, still staring out the window.

Duo stopped eating and looked up at her. "Balancing act?" he echoed, frowning.

She sighed and turned away from the window, facing Duo again. She shook her head in dismissal. "Never mind."

Duo nodded and resumed eating quietly. Relena stared dully at the table.

"Do you really think that son-of-a-bitch is gonna make him choose?" he asked after some time.

"I don't know," she whispered sorrowfully. "I don't know what kind of game he's playing... I don't think anyone here really knows."

"They say that knowing love is the key to redemption," Duo muttered bitterly, poking his food with his chopsticks. He seemed to have lost his appetite.

Relena looked up in his direction. "John 3:16," she nodded in agreement; "Probably the most popular verse in the bible..." she commented, looking at him evenly; "I didn't know you were such a faithful Christian."

"I dunno 'bout the faithful part," Duo shrugged casually; "but it was sorta how I was raised... It's a long story..." he sighed, casting his eyes back down. "Suffice to say I got me 'nough Catholic guilt to last me a lifetime... The Sisters made _sure_ of that."

Relena nodded in understanding and turned to look out the window again. Roman Catholicism was the largest religious denomination on the L2 cluster, mainly among the colonies populated by an ex-Scottish and ex-Irish populace. She didn't know if 'Maxwell' was indeed Duo's last name, but regardless, it still hinted at his heritage. Recalling the horrifying stories she had heard about Catholic Mother-and-Baby Homes on L2, where unwed pregnant women were sent to give birth and were later forced to give up their children, she grimaced and closed her eyes briefly, trembling inside.

The decades-long abuse of women and their children at the hands of the Catholic-run institutions on L2 have been well established. The mortality rate at those notorious homes was appalling. Though the full details of what happened to those children may never fully be exposed, the strong implication of severe abuse and neglect could not be ignored even decades after. Harrowing news of horrific scandals rumbled on even to this day, constantly dominating the news for it seemed that a new report about the cavalier manner in which those children were once treated made the headlines every few days. It was a searing indictment of a colony already a home to too many scandals involving Church and state.

If Duo was indeed a survivor of that terrible system, his conflicted religious faith was understandable. His was a compulsory Catholic faith, a faithless faith; one he probably wished he could live without, but couldn't. In that respect, Heero was the lucky one; in the very least, he had been allowed the choice to disregard God altogether. She believed that he even found comfort in his keen aversion of God. He proclaimed himself an avid atheist, but she felt that despite his proclamation, to him God _did_ exist, only so he could hate Him. Denouncing and denying God was the only comfort Heero took from religious faith.

"You complement each other..." she mumbled bleakly, gazing out at the falling snow; "a pseudo-Catholic and a pseudo-atheist..." she mumbled and Duo looked up from his takeout meal, frowning.

"Who? Heero? _Please_," he scoffed, "I dun think I've even heard him use the word _'God'_ once..."

Relena turned back to face him and smiled sadly. "True," she agreed; "Heero thinks that religious faith is nothing but a bunch of useless mumbo-jumbo..."

"Well... at least he started using words like _mumbo-jumbo_..." Duo offered jokingly; "that's progress, right?" he added with a sad smile of his own. The silence turned awkward as Relena studied him quietly for a moment.

"You're a sweet guy," she finally declared.

"I am?" he marveled at the compliment; "thought I was a real jerk," he reminded her, smirking.

She smiled back, shrugging casually. "Sometimes," she taunted; "but you're also kind of sweet... warm... genuine. It's very comforting. I've never realized that before."

"Nah... I just joke around cuz I'm fuckin' nervous, that all," Duo dismissed her unexpected claim; "It useta piss Heero off... I would talk his ear off and he... well... the guy could never take a joke. He'd clam-up... get all _intense_ when he was nervous and I was the exact opposite. It was a nasty combination. I swear to God the only common ground we ever found was the mind-blowing se—uh— See? Nervous jabbering... I'll shut up now. Heh..."

Relena's face fell sullen again. She cast her eyes down to stare at the table. They sat in silence for a while.

"I don't think that this... _Redeemer_ character is trying to offer anyone religious salvation," she determined bitterly and heaved a miserable sigh. "All he offers is death."

"A man after Heero's own heart..." Duo mumbled solemnly and placed his unfinished meal on the table. "God... that's... shit." He ran a hand through his long bangs, shaking his head regretfully. "He won't kill him unless Heero chooses."

"Then we are looking at a very long wait," Relena surmised. She turned to Duo again, his eyes shining sadly. "He isn't going to choose."

"Why not?"

"Because Heero doesn't care whether he lives or dies. He might have cared, for a while maybe... after the war, but then... he... he stopped caring again... when we lost Lizzie. Since then he just... keeps going. Just... existing... going through the motions... living until he dies."

"Waiting for death," Duo realized gloomily.

"Waiting for death," Relena confirmed, sighing. She resumed staring out the window, her blue eyes forlorn. It suddenly occurred to her that she was sitting in the company of a young man who had once cockily proclaimed himself the "God of Death". She couldn't help wondering if in essence _Duo_ was the kind of death Heero was _really_ waiting for... and if either of them even realized that Heero's choice should be obvious...

* * *

><p>She had heard doctors refer to the ICU as <em>'God's Waiting Room'<em>. The term was callous, but it certainly felt accurate. She had spent long anxious days by Heero's bedside, waiting, listening to every shallow breath he drew. The doctors had removed the intubation and left her there, waiting fearfully to discover whether he'd be able to draw his next breath, or if she had just heard his last. Elizabeth spent most of the day sitting on a small colorful play mat on the floor, busying herself with various toys. Her presence only registered as gentle background noise, much like always. She'd ask for something every now and then, but otherwise didn't bother her much. It was easy to forget she was there.

After two days of terrifying waiting, the doctors determined that Heero was stable and began taking him off ICU sedation. It was hours more before he started waking up; that had been the longest wait.

At first, only a thin slit of blue appeared. He had cracked his left eye slightly open; the right one was still swollen shut. She had no idea how long he had been staring at her dully through a half-lidded eye, but when she finally noticed that he was watching her, she smiled. It was a big, goofy, idiotic smile of utter relief. She couldn't help it.

Heero blinked blearily, struggling to open both eyes. His left eye opened fully, but the right only halfway. He winced and groaned quietly; a small hoarse whimper escaping his parched throat. He was most likely beginning to feel the aches all over his body. She watched him carefully, tuned to every small change in his pale expression. He tried to move, but couldn't; he was too faint. His eyes shifted left and right, searching the room dreadfully. It took her a moment to realize what he was looking for and when she did she hurried to stand up, picked Elizabeth off the floor and held her up against her hip so Heero could see her.

"She's right here," she assured him quietly, smiling despite the tears flooding her eyes. "She's safe... she's right here."

For a long while, Heero did not tear his gaze off his young daughter. He lay still, staring numbly at his child until his eyes watered with tears. He blinked and they spilled, lingering to his long eyelashes. He closed his tired eyes and turned his head the other way, nodding gratefully. He drifted back into a deep, exhausted slumber. It was two days more before he awoke.

He got a bit better with each passing day. It was a slow and painful recovery, but he was determined to pull through. She was by his side every single day for as long as she could afford; their daughter was always there, playing quietly on the floor. Relena was certain that Heero took comfort in her presence, so she had persisted with bringing Elizabeth along... that is, until the day of the accident, after which she hadn't shown her face at the hospital for over a week.

When she finally mustered the courage and strength necessary to face him again, bearing news of Elizabeth's death, she couldn't step out of the elevator leading out to the ward where he was staying. Instead she punched the lobby button and planned on bolting out of the hospital, leaving the difficult task to another day... maybe never. But when the elevator doors opened on the ground floor and she was about to step out, Zechs was suddenly there, blocking her way. She looked up at her tall older brother, her bright blue eyes fierce and defiant – telling him to back off. He didn't budge and returned her gaze evenly. He took a step forward, entering the elevator, forcing her to take a step back inside. She glared at him resentfully, but said nothing as Zechs pressed the button leading up to Heero's floor, never facing her. The elevator doors closed and up they went in tense silence.

Like all of the other rooms at the surgical ward, Heero's small private room was surrounded by wall-to-wall windows covered with partially closed white slat-blinds, allowing the medical staff to peek into the room as they passed through the hallway. Zechs stopped a few steps short of the window so he won't be seen. Peeking between the slat-blinds, Relena could see that Heero was awake. He was sitting up in bed, supported by pillows, reading a book. He hadn't noticed their approach. She turned to Zechs, her eyes full of dread. She couldn't do it.

"He is her father," Zechs reprimanded quietly; "You've already denied him of the chance to attend the funeral... to say goodbye," he reminded her sullenly. "It's been ten days, Relena. There's no point postponing it any longer. He deserves to know. He has handled difficult news before..."

"Nothing like this," she whispered miserably. Zechs fell quiet, casting his gaze down to the floor. He knew she was right. Heero has handled much hardship in his twenty-two years of life, but nothing like this.

He suddenly recalled how Heero had offered him his hand for a handshake as he agreed to a selfish duel he had proposed after tracking the young pilot down in mid-war. Such a redundant battle in the grand scheme of things, but he could not help himself back then, he was obsessed with fighting the young and seemingly fearless pilot; a boy whose very existence belittled his masculinity.

However Heero had been but a child. He admitted to never shaking anyone's hand before as he offered his hand up cautiously, initiating the handshake in a gesture both timid and poised. Strange wasn't it, shaking hands with the enemy? But Heero Yuy was never truly a foe; never one to be regarded in a simplistic dichotomy of black and white. He was both a child and a man, guided by wisdom well beyond his years and at the same time misguided by the naivety of youth. Inexperience was part of the human condition; even the elderly were innocent children of their old age, never knowing what might lie ahead [[i]]. And although Heero had a lifetime of experienced pain and suffering from which to draw wisdom and strength, it was not enough. Nothing could ever prepare a person for the death of their child.

Relena sighed and slowly turned to face the room. She inhaled a deep, shaky breath... and walked slowly to the door. Her heart pounded painfully in her chest, threatening to burst through her ribcage. She opened the door.

Heero looked up from his book. His intense blue gaze felt as solid as a punch to the chest. It held no criticism, but she could feel the question being asked as though he had spoken it verbally: he wanted to know where she has been for the past ten days and why she was suddenly here again, alone. He already knew something was wrong.

Relena hesitated a moment at the doorway before turning to close the door behind her. She approached his bed dreadfully. Her chair was still waiting there, vacant for over a week. Her gaze fell to the floor – the empty, empty floor where Elizabeth had played quietly for so many days. She fought back the tears and took a seat by his bed, struggling to remain composed as she looked at him, studying his face quietly.

He was dressed in a white dotted hospital gown, a wide loose collar revealing his prominent collarbone and the tip of the scar that ran from the bottom of his neck and down across his torso. He was connected to a monitor displaying his every bodily function, including heart rate and blood pressure, which currently registered at a normal 80 BPM and 100/60 mm Hg. He closed his book, leaving it on his blanket-covered lap, his right hand still resting on the cover. A finger-clip sensor was attached to his index finger, monitoring his heartbeat. Two of his other fingers were held in splints and his thumb was missing its fingernail. Her gaze lingered to the abused digits and her gut convulsed sickly as she was once again reminded of the extent of the abuse he had suffered.

She looked up to meet his eyes. He was still watching her coolly, waiting for her to speak. She couldn't. Her throat felt blocked, constricted... clamped shut. All she could do was to sit there motionlessly, hands resting limply over her lap, staring dully into Heero's eyes.

They were such a deep, enchanting shade of blue... It was amazing just how blue they could be sometimes. So clear, lucid, so alive... anguished, but alive. Despite everything, there was still resilience there, unbeatable determination to overcome, endure and survive. That was going to change as soon as she will open her mouth. She was about to become the one who takes that fierce fire away... extinguishing the light she was so terribly fond of... it wasn't fair! She couldn't bring herself to speak. She just kept looking into his eyes, savoring every single moment before she will be forced to take away the light shining within that amazing, lively, blue.

She had never seen that light diminish. No matter what, it was never vanquished... not even back then, in that ICU in Brussels... after Duo had left. The ever-defiant light had faded somewhat, dimmed sadly by a sense of quiet resignation. Heero was nothing if not reasonable. He knew that he was the one at fault, that Duo leaving was a choice he himself has made for the two of them; he had chased Duo away. She could tell by the slightly darkened shades in the deepest blue of his eyes that he had accepted that painful truth, as well as the decision not to fight over Duo.

The pain she was about to deliver now will not be the same. It will be far worse, because this time Heero didn't choose to hurt. On the contrary, he had suffered greatly to avoid it, to save his daughter's life. He had hung onto life against all odds and fought for recovery. If only she could wait until he was a bit stronger, healthier. But Zechs was right. She owed him this... he had to know.

Her silence was making him feel uneasy, she could tell. He didn't know what was going on, which upset him. His eyes shifted sideways, towards the window. She didn't follow his glance, but she could tell by the slight tensing of his facial muscles that he had spotted Zechs standing outside his room. He turned back to her, a demanding question burning in his eyes, waiting for her to tell him what went wrong.

The words would not come. Instead, she studied him lengthily, memorizing his face one last time before she delivered the punch that would shatter him completely. The doctors had to do some reconstructive plastic surgery to repair facial bone damage, but the surgeon had done a fantastic job. There were no traces of surgery, though she knew that there was a thin scar hidden under his unruly bangs, running across his hairline, where layers of skin had been peeled off to prevent scarring as they fixed the delicate facial bones underneath. She examined his face closely, as though to make sure that everything was indeed back in place... that Heero was still Heero... at least for a short while longer.

He was so handsome. His slightly Asian features, traces of a few generations of Asian/Caucasian cross-cultural breeding, made for an exotic and striking combination. She noted the light freckles that had formed on his cheeks after so many years of living under Earth's sun. She had never noticed them before, but they stood out now that he was so terribly pale. Their daughter's white porcelain face was the same – easily freckled. Being the last in a probably long genetic lineage of interracial relations, Elizabeth didn't inherit any of her father's diminished Asian traits, but her face had always reminded her of Heero. Her eyes were the same deep Prussian blue, not cerulean like hers. Their nose was also the same, as well as the high cheekbone structure. She was always reminded of him when looking at their daughter, but now, when she looked at him, all she could see was Elizabeth.

Her eyes watered with tears and this time she couldn't hold back the flood. She cast her eyes down sadly; unable to look into his eyes for a second longer or else she would break into loud sobs.

"Lena," he whispered her name softly; "tell me what happened."

She broke down crying, sobbing loudly. She shook her head repeatedly, unable to speak.

"Relena," he called her name quietly, reaching a hand up towards her, but she stopped him before he could touch her, shoving his hand away. She didn't deserve his comfort, his kindness... none of it. She buried her face in her hands, weeping brokenly.

Heero fell silent. He placed his hand back down on his lap, laying it over his book. He bowed his head, staring numbly at the book cover, and waited patiently. There was comfort in his silence too; the wordless understanding only he knew how to offer. She loved him so much for his strong temperance, for being her pillar of strength. She jumped out of her chair and hugged him, wrapping her arms around him tightly, catching him by complete surprise. She felt his body tense rigidly against her, shocked by the sudden embrace. She didn't care what he thought of her frantic move; all she wanted was to hold him for a minute... just one more moment of quiet grace. She rested her head against his chest, climbing on the bed so she was sitting next to him on her knees. She could hear his heartbeat, strong and steady... another great comfort. His heart rate was increasing; she could feel his heart pounding against her ear. She was causing him distress, but still he said nothing.

The heart monitor also picked up on Heero's rising stress levels. His blood pressure now registered at a higher 120/80 mm Hg, and his heart rate was climbing up to a strenuous 130 BPM.

She felt him start moving his arms up, maybe to push her away, maybe to hug back, but then he stopped, regretting it. He hesitated for another moment before moving them again. He returned the embrace, holding her awkwardly with stiff arms, pulling her closer into the embrace.

His blood pressure now registered 130/90 mm Hg; heart rate at a dangerous 175 BPM and still rising...

"Lena..." he whispered shakily against her other ear; "Tell me."

Standing outside the room, peeking through the slat-blinded window, Zechs watched the two carefully. He saw Relena pull back slowly, releasing Heero from her strong embrace. Her face was soaked with tears, makeup smearing down her cheeks. She climbed off the bed and stood by his bedside, holding his hand. More of her tears overflowed when she finally opened her mouth to speak. He could not hear her or read her lips from between the blinds, but he could tell that she was crying the words out with helpless sobs. At some point, Heero let go of her hand, pulling away. He sat completely still, rigid, listening to her mutely, his expression eerily stoic. From a distance it looked like he was taking the news well, or perhaps he was unable to process what he was being told just yet, but then suddenly an alarm was blaring loudly and Heero was convulsing on the bed. The heart monitor flat-lined and a nearby nurse declared a Code Blue. A team of doctors rushed into the room with a crash cart.

Heero's already strained heart couldn't take the news of his daughter's death. He went into cardiac arrest. As the doctors fought to restart his heart, Relena stood aside, weeping brokenly. Zechs watched the chaotic scene with an unreadable expression. Only his cerulean blue eyes shone sadly, betraying the tragic realization that he had just witnessed what no amount of grueling military training, battle-scarring years of fighting for the militia or the years spent as a Preventer CTD operative had managed to do to Heero Yuy: his most worthy and formidable foe was vanquished by no other than his little sister...

* * *

><p>Memories would not let her be. They were a punishment she endured willingly... almost gratefully. It was a personal badge of shame she had learned to accept as a price for her sin. She was no martyr; she just knew that she deserved the pain... the haunting, unrelenting and heavy angst one carried in their heart for clipping the wings of an angel. She was the one responsible for the hurt in Heero's eyes. The single wound he could never recover from belonged to her, and she lived with that understanding in infamy.<p>

Another day had passed in bitter contemplation while waiting for a phone call that may never come. By late afternoon, Shaw kicked her out of the meeting room and told her to go back to the hotel, get some rest. Duo was nowhere to be found.

It had completely slipped her mind that it was Christmas Eve. She had stepped out of her car in front of the hotel and her driver wished her a very tactless Merry Christmas. She had paused, dazed for a moment, caught completely unprepared. She mumbled back a halfhearted _'Merry Christmas'_ and slammed the door shut behind her. She walked into the lobby, suddenly painfully aware of all the decorations, the merry tunes and carols... the whole Christmas shebang was thrust into her face, beckoning the return of a personal nightmare. She dashed towards the elevator, seeking sanctuary in a room devoid of any hints of the holiday.

She took a quick shower and went straight to bed, no dinner. She couldn't eat. Nighttime cast shadows around her small hotel room. She lay in the dark, curled on the bed and gazed numbly ahead at the unveiled window. The city of New York stared back blankly, offering no comfort. She held her smartphone in her hand, sprawled in front of her on the bed, as if keeping her finger ready to quickly answer any incoming call would make any difference. She checked it from time to time, even though she couldn't possibly have missed a call, unlocking the touch-screen just so she would feel that she was doing something.

The same screensaver image greeted her each time she pressed on the main button before unlocking the phone. Seeing it was much like taking a punch to the face; it was a masochistic torture she deliberately inflicted on herself: looking at the picture Cassandra had sent her the day she died, the only photo of Heero and Elizabeth together. The young nanny had secretly taken the photograph while Heero had stopped to tie Lizzie's shoelaces at the entrance of the National Museum of Natural History; before the three had entered what later became a living Hell. Wishing to share the rare moment, Cassie had sent her the picture. Despite being in a middle of a meeting, Relena took a peek, smiling warmly, and then forwarded the photo to Heero's phone with a teasing text message saying: _'Part of the job description? ;-P'_; to which he had later replied: _'All in a day's work'_.

When she unlocked the touch screen, the photo vanished, replaced by a standard wallpaper image. She entered the photo gallery and sought it out again. She zoomed in for a closer look. The photo captured Heero and their daughter standing next to a large white stone pillar at the entrance of the museum. Lizzie's dishwater-blonde hair was gathered into two long pigtails, but her blonde bangs were tousled and messy; it must have been windy. She was wearing her pink coat and matching pink sneakers. She remembered how Elizabeth had insisted on wearing her favorite pink ballet-slippers shoes that morning, despite Cassandra's protests and useless implores that they will hurt her feet while touring the US Capital all day long. She remembered the subsequent tantrum, and that Cassie had packed a spare pair of shoes – pink sneakers – just in case.

In the picture, Heero was kneeling in front of Lizzie, tying the shoelaces of said pink sneakers. Elizabeth must have complained about aching feet and he – ever the pragmatic – must have managed to finally convince her to replace her ballet shoes with something more practical, thus stepping out of the role of a mere bodyguard and unintentionally stepping into the shoes of a parent – pun intended. If one was unfamiliar with the actual context of the photo, one would assume that it was a simple documentation of a natural, everyday moment between father and daughter. Heero looked nothing like a guard. He was dressed casually in black jeans and a navy-blue Sherpa-fleece-lined corduroy jacket, head bowed down slightly so that his messy bangs obscured his eyes partially, his long fingers wrapped around the pink laces. Elizabeth's head was also bowed, looking down at how he was tying her shoes.

She zoomed in on his face, studying it wretchedly with tearful eyes. Heero's blue eyes were focused on the mundane chore with the same gravity, care and dutiful dedication he devoted to any task he had to perform. God knows she had never devoted her daughter so much attention like Heero had given her at that very moment. Taking care of Elizabeth when Cassandra was not around was more of an unwelcomed chore she wanted to get out of the way as soon as possible, rather than a duty she fulfilled willingly and gladly as a mother should. Caring for her daughter was all about technicalities, never enjoyable. Feed, clothe and bathe her... get her to bed as soon as possible so she will have some peace and quiet and could get back to work. It was shameful, but true. There was no point denying it, even after losing her child. She never wanted to be a mother. She didn't have the time or emotional means to care for a child. Elizabeth only got in the way of her political ambitions. The only reason she had carried her child to term was because she refused to terminate a life. She might be a ruthless pragmatic, but she was no murderer.

It had taken many therapy sessions before she was finally able to admit that a part of her was relieved when Lizzie died; relieved that she didn't have to torture herself for her inadequacies as a mother or to feel hindered by her daughter's very existence. It was an awful truth she had only admitted once, in therapy, and since then she just buried the shame deep inside, denying it whenever it threatened to rise to the surface again. She told herself that she felt devastated for losing her daughter, guilty for not paying attention when she should have, and ashamed of never spending enough time with her while she was still alive. That was what good mothers were supposed to feel while grieving for a dead child, so she had learned to feel that way, telling herself the same lies over and over again, until they became true.

She was, in fact, a hypocrite; which was why she could never truly understand the pain she had caused Heero. Heero's emotions were complex, but always genuine; intense and overwhelming. He might try to suppress and deny them most of the time, but he never ignored what he felt. He was guided by his emotions more than he liked to admit, because despite his many efforts, they were undeniable. Emotions burnt in him zealously, breaking out like lava slipping through cracks in the earth, always bubbling beneath a cool, hard surface. She imagined it must be very difficult living that way; feeling as intensely as he often did, yet being forced to hide, bury and conceal... pretend he didn't feel when in fact he was burning up inside, always in turmoil. His self-control was commendable; an exceptional restraint that fooled many, even himself at times... but not her; not after so many years of fighting the storms raging within him.

Trained and indoctrinated to military perfection, Heero rarely let those raging storms show, but when he did – it was far too intense to bear. He simply didn't know how to regulate the powerful forces constantly tearing him up inside. When he lost control, he lost it completely. There were times when even his extraordinary willpower was not enough to bring him back from the brink of madness. At times when he finally succumbed and allowed himself to let go – often in bed – the result was devastating. There was intense aggressiveness in him; primal, dangerous and unstoppable. Not once had she recoiled from his demanding, fervent touch... she couldn't handle him in bed, no matter how much she wanted to connect with him on such an intimate and passionate level. So in time Heero had learned to turn to her for other things, seeking comfort, using her as an aid to cool down the magma sizzling under his skin, always aching to erupt. They were friends, good friends, and yet she still loved him as something more... always the selfish hypocrite. She wanted his heart, no matter how battered and broken, but she knew that she was no longer worthy of it.

If Heero ever came back from this, she will tell him that once and for all. He could not have her; not in his bed and not in his life – enough. Since he couldn't make the choice he's been avoiding for close to a decade, she will make it for him. He mustn't choose her, never again, and she will make certain that he won't. It will be a last act of friendship... an act of love, of redemption.

And as if somewhere out there someone was reading her mind, Relena's smartphone suddenly rang.

The caller ID read: _'Heero'_.

* * *

><p>[i] Quoting Milan Kundera<p>

**Reminder: That's it. I won't be posting more of this story on this site because the rest of it is rated MA. Chapters 9-18 can be found** on the AO3 archive (just follow the link on my profile page. You can also download the eBook).

Elle


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